Colours of a Black Hole
by Lemonsmile
Summary: Hermione and Tom are the adoptive children of Mr and Mrs Riddle. After being close as children, they drift apart during their years in school. What is the real reason for Tom's reclusiveness?
1. The Man With a Hundred Smiles

**A/N: Hello world! This story is partly based on the japanese movie "Boku wa Imouto ni Koi wo Suru", which in its turn is based on the manga with the same name by manga artist Kotomi Aoki. Therefore, all rights goes to her and the amazingly imaginative Mrs Rowling.  
>A little <span>warning<span>! This story contains dark themes, dark!Tom (duh), pseudo-incest, violence and dub-con. My mind is kinda f*cked up and fluffiness makes me cry for all the wrong reasons, so trust in me to make you cry for all the right ones.  
><strong>

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 1: The Man With a Hundred Smiles<span>**

I suppose he is handsome, this boy standing in front of me. He has an athletic build, which derives from his many hours playing various types of sports. Football being the favourite, if my memory does not fail me (and it so rarely does). His golden hair has a life of its own and his nose is dented in two places, making him look particulary refined for some reason. Two skyblue eyes, which never leaves mine, are filled with mirth; the foolishness of youth. He is seventeen. I am sixteen, but do not feel a day over twelve in his company.  
>It's not that his actions are unnerving or aggressive, quite the contrary, since I first made Abraxas acquaintance, he has been nothing but pleasant towards me. He's pleasant towards everyone. He got this charisma and earthiness about him that makes everyone in his proximity feel cared for. A gift which I sometimes envy, if only in secret.<br>And I am neither dumb nor shy. I just feel unexplicably dumb and shy in his company.  
>Ginny says that it is because I like him.<br>I respectfully disagree.  
>If I liked him, I would have reacted differently to his words. I would have reacted.. more.<br>Incomprehensibly, this boyman has just confessed to an incessant fondness for me.

"I like you," he'd said, leaving me close to speechless.

His face did not become crimson and I bet that if I were to touch his palms, I would find them dry and soft.  
>Is this where my averseness towards him lie? In his unfaltering confidance and easy demeanour?<br>It would seem that life just comes too easily for this bloke.  
>But just as fast as I make my judgement, I revoke it. For who am I to judge? Really?<p>

"Okay," I say, filling the air with something else than my nervous breaths.

He gives off a tiny smile.

"Listen Hermione, you don't have to answer me right away.. Just think things over allright? I think we would be good together." He smiles again, broader this time. I remember Gin calling him the man with a hundred smiles. The nickname fits him well.

I say nothing, just nod my head and watch him back away. Leaving me all to myself in the empty corridor.

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><p>I've always been just a little bit sad.<br>I suppose that comes with being just a little bit smarter than my peers. Tom is smart too, but he doesn't seem to suffer from it the same way that I do. Sometimes, I think that he actually revels in it. The feeling of being an outcast and above everyone else is somehow a desirable concept to him.  
>Of course, he is an attractive guy and on top of that, the best at everything he does. And that he's a silent and broody type just seems to add to the enigma that is Tom Riddle.<br>And mystery in a good-looking man is not necessarily a bad thing.  
>To say that girls go gaga over him would be the understatement of the year.<p>

Tom Riddle is my brother.  
>Or adoptive brother more like it, but that's not something we discuss. In the eyes of our (read: my) friends, our parents and ourselves; we are siblings.<br>I love Tom and once upon a time, he loved me.

We're in the same year, but in different classes. Tom is in the same class that Abraxas is in and Abraxas seem to have an odd one-sided friendship with my brother. I, due to my intelligence, was able to move up a grade. Tom was offered to do the same but declined, with the argument that he didn't want to miss out on any knowledge, however unsignificant. He once told me that he would never be satisfied until he knew everything. Therefore, a large part of his time are spent in the world of books. A world that I am most familiar with.  
>I'm afraid that I often choose reading in front of spending time with my friends. That doesn't necessarily mean that I don't love my friends - I just <em>really<em> love books. In other words, I'm a swot. People are ever so complicated. Books never argue with you or spend an excessive amount of time in dedication to talk about clothes, sex and their every-day life. Not that my friends are quite that dull or shallow, but those subjects are certainly not foreign in the company I keep.  
>Books are.. peaceful.<p>

When I was young, Tom used to read to me. He would stroke my hair as I laid by his side, listening to the sad fate of Gregor Samsa and the violence performed by Mr Hyde. We read a lot of classics, because our parents believed that that would be good food for our brains. Not that we ever complained, but sometimes I wish that I would have taken a moment to be a child. To be dumb and annoying – to read something akin to that which is candy, ice-cream or pizza for the brain. Or better yet – not read at all. To watch a stupid television program with stupid actors and a stupid plot. I wish I had done that as I child. (But alas, I can not stand television).  
>Of course, since we're sixteen and seventeen, Tom doesn't read to me anymore. I read in my corner and he reads in his. In all honesty, he doesn't really keep my company anymore. For what it's worth, we see each other at breakfast and at dinner, and occasionally, we bump into each other in the hallway. Now, when I try to start up a conversation with Tom, he just answers me in short phrases, eager to cut off any sort of communication as fast as possible.<br>That's the way with teenage boys, my mother says. As they grow older, family becomes less and less important. He got his own future to think of, his own friends and girlfriends to pay attention to. We're just not that important anymore.  
>I understand that, but I miss Tom. I miss having him stroke my hair as he reads to me. I just miss.. being with him.<br>Nowadays, everything I do, seem to annoy Tom. A slip of the tongue or a small mistake blows widely out of proportion as he yells at me in anger. At times he pulls my hair hard, or pinches me until his fingers leaves purple bruises on my skin. But I never tell anyone that, feeling strangely protective of my brother. I actually prefer his violence to him ignoring me.  
>Seeing as we appear to have so much in common, it's hard for me to grasp why Tom seems so eager to include me as little as possible in his life. Especially since we used to be so very close.<p>

* * *

><p>I can't concentrate during class. Math and numbers never really seems to hold my interest, even though I excel in it. But not as greatly as Tom does of course. Never as greatly as Tom.<br>He is, without a doubt, the best student in our year and probably the best student throughout the history of our school. I'm second best. Always second. I'm not really bitter about it (except that I am), but our parents tend to treat Tom slightly different than me. And by different – I mean better. It's not that our parents are bad people, they just hold knowledge and achievement in an extremely high regard. My mother is a professor in neuroscience at Beauxbatons University and my father a world famous surgeon. Tom is their golden child. And bitter little me holds the silver prize.  
>Today, my thoughts are not with Tom or our parents, but on Abraxas. I'm worrying about what to tell him. I sincerely do not know if I wish to date him or not. And dating.. dating just seems so absolutely ridicolous, or maybe unnatural is a better word? Nevertheless, I shudder at the thought of it. Abraxas is nice and all, but as I already pointed out, I can't seem to function normally around him. And some X-factor about him just rubs me the wrong way.<p>

During lunch, I sit with the usual people; Ginny, Neville, Padma, Luna and Harry are all part of my "crew". I consider telling Ginny about Abraxas confession but quickly shoots down the thought when remembered by her secretly telling me of her undying love for him. A tragedy, seeing as Harry can't take his eyes of her, and Padma of Harry and Neville of Padma.. and so the sad story of teenage love continues. To this day I don't know who the hell Luna likes. Love seems to be just as much of a foreign concept to her as it is to me.  
>By mistake, I catch Abraxas blue eyes when I see him cross the cafeteria and sit down at the table that Tom already has occupied. He gives off one of his smiles and winks at me. I give a little effort into smiling back at him. As he turns his back towards me, I catch Tom's eyes. He is sitting on the other side of Abraxas and appears to have watched the exchange of looks between me and the young blond. He doesn't smile. Tom rarely smiles. He just gives me a piercing look, so that if I had been closer to him, I would've been afraid of him turning physically violent towards me. In return to his frown, I try to smile, much the same as I had done with Abraxas. The effort of a smile is not answered.<p> 


	2. Thoughts on Being Weird

**A/N: A kid in the school I work at sneezed in my face, so I'm stuck with a cold at the moment. On the good side, this means more time for writing, on the bad side, I have to reach for the tissues before I even get to finish writing a sentence. That's bad tissue-reaching, people! We all know that there's only one ****_good_**** reason to reach for a tissue. :) Now, happy times to you all!**

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 2: Thoughts on Being Weird<span>**

Ginny has invited me to secretly watch as Abraxas plays football with some other guys from our school. Sitting ungraciously hunched over in the bushes, I try to avoid paying attention to the match at hand or more specifically: a certain blond fellow. Ginny has a tendency to talk me into the most stupid things. Two days later, I have yet to have told her of Abraxas confession. Awkwardly avoiding both him as the idea of him. Now, up to my neck in un-named shame I politely duck my head whenever Gin demands me to do so, in the attempt of not being caught.  
>"It should be a bloody crime to look that good in shorts," she exclaims with a forlorn sigh.<br>I sneak a glance at my redhaired friend as she admires the person in question. She's one of those people who seems to like the idea of being over their heads in love with someone: so much that you could die for that person and that person for you. As Juliet had been for Romeo and Romeo for Juliet. I've always regarded that sort love as impractical. To love a person with that sort of dedication appears to have the most painful end results.  
>"Look, Tom is there as well! My, my, he does not look too shabby either! Always good to have a back-up." She giggles and I strike her arm.<br>I already know that Tom is there. In his shorts. Since his frowning in the cafteria, the roles have been reversed and I have unsuccessfully tried to avoid him (not wanting the problem of the mischievous blond to be brought up). But he has been acting very out of character these last couple of days and actively seeking me out. Yesterday he knocked on my door and asked me for help with his homework - which he never does. Tom Riddle does not ask for help! His odd behaviour has made me very fidgety. A memory of him sitting close beside me at my workdesk, bending over to explain a problem of some sorts, enters my mind. He had laid his cold hand on my arm while his warm breath fanned my cheek, all the while I wished him gone from there - taking his overwhelming presence with him.

As the match carries on, I entertain myself by shredding some leaves from the unfortunate bush which we are hiding behind. Ginny doesn't pay much attention to me anyways, but occasionally makes remarks about the object of her desire or the match itself. I'm tired and wishing I was buried with my nose in a book, instead of stalking a boy I so far have put every effort into avoiding. Tom, being on the field, is just the cherry on the top, another addition to my distress.  
>It's not until I hear a remarkably loud "<em>tumph<em>" that I lift my head. Laying on the ground are Abraxas and Tom, both staying silent and regarding the sky while trying to catch their breaths. Others around them are screaming, but I can't make out the worlds.  
>I look questioningly towards Ginny, who with a roll of her eyes says that Tom ran into Abraxas with all his might after he stole the ball and they tumbled onto the ground.<p>

"Tell your stupid brother not to hurt my beloved."

"Tell him yourself, you cow," I answer, not without humour. We giggle together and I have to put my hand over my mouth not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.  
>The ever so perfect Tom was rolling around in dirt while Ginny and I were snickering in the bushes.<p>

Abraxas is the first one to stand up and rather coldly streches out his hand to Tom. I have never seen him staring so venomously towards anyone, but it's so typical of him to still act politely while doing so. He would probably help his murderer cross the street even after the murderer told him he would kill him once on the sidewalk again.  
>I see Tom reluctantly accepting Abraxas kind gesture and he is, in one pull, with both feet on the ground again. He sends Abraxas a tiny nod, like confirming him being okay while apologising at the same time. Saying "I'm sorry" has never come easy to Tom Riddle. In fact, I don't think I ever heard him utter the phrase, common for most people.<p>

"He's so weird," I hear Ginny mutter. "Thank God he's handsome enough to make up for it."

I frown.

"What do you mean?" I ask, keeping the anger from my voice hidden. Naturally, I do not take insults directed towards Tom lightly. It's a sibling thing. Only_ I_ may complain about him until my tongue withers from the practice. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Tom's retreating form as the players dissolve from the court, leaving the mistreated ball behind.

Ginny looks slightly guilty, but being the opinionated and brave soul that she is, stands up for herself.  
>She begins her sentence with a thoughtful sigh, as she often does when being uncomfortable.<p>

"It's just.. Um.. don't take this the wrong way okay Mione? - But he's not exactly normal now is he?"

She makes a grimace, like worrying about the impact before continuing to explain, "He's super smart for starters and while that's not a bad thing, it's certainly isn't classified as _normal._ For goodness' sake! He's smarter than all of our teachers put together! – Not that Slughorn has much to contribute with – that brainless slug.. Failing me by half a point.." I roll my eyes, having _this_ conversation before. She sees it and continues, "And what's more, he knows that he's smart too! Sucking it all up like one gigantic blob, thinking he's above everyone else.." She trails off, so I interject;

"I sort of agree with you, on Tom being arrogant and all from time to time, but what is it that makes him _weird_? Being smart and arrogant can't be the only factors to earn him that classification. That might just as well be a refrence to me."

I'm genuinely curious now, not actually having spent much time talking about Tom with my friends. For some reason, that subject seems to be just a little bit of taboo.  
>Ginny regards me strangely for a second, like I'm an uncomprehending child she's about to explain something very difficult to. Or as if she is pondering whether or not to tell me something my ears are not entirely willing to hear.<p>

"Okay, firstly, you're weird." At once I open my mouth to protest, but she doesn't let me talk, "No, don't say anything, you're weird - deal with it. Secondly, he's weird on a _whole_ different level. You, being the weird adorable swot - _him_ being the cold, weird, menacing Tom Riddle. You see? Different types of weirdness." She pronounces every syllable in the last sentence like I indeed am a dimwitted child and waves her hands around in the air, as if she's weighing the two against each other.

For a second, there is silence.

"I see, so you think he's cold," I say matter-of-factly.

Ginny looks apologetically at me.  
>"Yes," she pulls her thin Greta Garbo-lips to the side before continuing, "But I also don't know him as well as you do. He's not my brother after all."<p>

"That's right," I declare, not really angered, but feeling that protective instinct take its toll, "You don't know anything about Tom."

Ginny just gives me a tiny smile, as if declaring the end of the discussion.

I return it.

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><p>When we slowly start making our way back over the school grounds, I still can't help but to think about Ginny's words<em>. Cold, menacing, weird<em>.. Is that how they all see Tom? Or is it just Ginny who views him in that manner? Looking back at that which I've heard being said about Tom, it is mostly that gibberish about his fortunate face and body which comes to mind. Otherwise, it is the not so rare remarks on his intelligance or the odd references to him and me being the Remarkable Riddles.  
>Smart Tom. Handsome Tom. <em>Weird<em> Tom. No more, no less.  
>It is not unknown to me, that Tom has a form of darkness living inside of him. A weirdness if you will, which sets him apart from other human beings. The extent and the certitude of that darkness I do not know, but I am aware of its existence. Naively, I just thought that others wasn't aware it.<br>Nevertheless, Tom is my brother and I am his sister. Therefore, we're doomed to love each other no matter which level of weirdness we happen to find ourselves upon.

As Ginny and I reach our lockers, we are, to my surprise, greeted by the sight of the boy in question. Tom is standing there, looking careless and bored in that very aristocratic and dignified manner. Objectively, I can see why girls would trip over themselves to get to him. A quite tall and lean boy, although not entirely without muscles (a body best described as being somewhere in between a smooth surface of a belly and a six-pack - just the subtle hint of it all). His eyes are grey like flint and his face cut out with chisel. His soft ebony-hair is laid in perfect waves upon his metaphorically blown-up head while his long fingers are drumming a notepad against his right leg.

"Hermione, did you perhaps mistake my notepad for yours?"  
>Typical Tom. No greeting whatsoever. He finds all kind of polite conduct to be a bloody waste of time.<p>

"Good day to you too, beloved brother. I will shortly see to it, if you would be ever so kind as to lend me access to my own locker first."  
>Tom steps aside with a perfectly annoyed look.<p>

"Don't let it happen again. It's quite easy if you put your mind to it you know.. simply open the notepad and see which name is written out. Or if it's on the front page – look there – your eyes won't even have to travel that far. And I trust you're familiar with the alphabet? Or are all those tomes you read children's picture books? Wouldn't surprise me the least if you were to admit to it.."

Talkative Tom is an annoyed Tom. Ginny just gives me that I-can't-believe-him-either-sorta-look before scrambling, turning her pale legs in the direction of the classroom.  
>Taking what I need from my locker and handing Tom the book which I supposedly took for my own, I discreetly look around the corridor to assure that we are not being joined by a certain blond friend.<br>When I meet Tom's gaze he lifts one eyebrow in that condescending way I've had a lifetime to get used to.

"Abraxas is not here," he says, as if reading my mind. _Weird_ Tom.

Feeling uncomfortable at thought of him knowing.. well anything about that which has taken place between me and Abraxas, I turn my gaze.

"Why would I care?" I can't help but ask.

"The boy is in love with you. You're disturbed by it," he answers straightforwardly in that melodic voice of his. It sounds like an accusation.

"No, he's not. I am what you call a "passing fancy", Abraxas is like a little child crying out for his mother, only to find that he will forget her the moment she leaves the room."

Tom scowls.

"But you're disturbed by it," he insists.

"No, seeing as he is _not_ in love with me."

Tom narrows his eyes before breathing out what little air he has left in his lungs through his nose. I always found those shallow types of breaths to be inexplicably animalistic. Like a wound up rhinocerus or something.

"Still, it must be flattering, being courted by the next best eligible bachelor."

I roll my eyes. "Let me guess - you're the first."

"Naturally. -Although if I am to delve further into it, I'm not really a bachelor now am I?" Something between an amused smile and a grim face marrying his features.

"There's always Bellatrix," I confirm.

"There's always Bella."  
>We're walking now and it takes me a while to realise that he shouldn't be walking with me.<p>

"Don't you have class?" I ask, not wanting to hold him up.

"Of course I do, this is school Hermione."  
>I press my books to my chest in an attempt not to hit him with them. This new Tom has really been getting on my nerves.<p>

"Do you have an aversion towards attending it?" I ask, exasperated.

"Not particulary," he answers with a shrug of his shoulders.  
>I give up and just ignore his presence beside me until we reach the classroom, there, he grabs my arm.<p>

"Let's walk home together after school. We're heading towards the same place after all."

"Hell?" I joke, trying to shrug of his hand, which only leads to him tightening his grip. His gaze and his eyes are the cold ones of the old Tom. The Tom that is Mr Hyde.

"Hell," he repeats, leaving out all humour. I want to shiver, but force myself to laugh lightly. As I make those ingenuine sounds, Tom releases my arm and disappears out of sight.  
><em><br>Out of sight, out of mind_, I think - rubbing my arm fiercely.

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><p><strong>AN: I forgot to mention for those interested; at the moment, I don't plan on writing from Tom's POV, seeing as I find a little mystery in a man to be desirable. But if I were to do so anyway, it would be much further into the story.**


	3. Dazed and Confused

**Chapter 3: Dazed and Confused**

"Hermione!" I hear the dreaded voice call.  
>Keeping an ugly grimace from marring my face, I turn around.<p>

"Abraxas," I say, forcing myself to declare his unwelcomed presence in an even tone, feeling awkward.  
>His cheeks are painted with red streaks from running, his eyes glowing with that overconfidance that I can't seem to swallow down. I try smiling. I seem to always force myself <em>to try<em> smiling these days.

"Hello beautiful. Been thinking over my offer?" he says while grinning, having halted in front of me.  
>I open my mouth, but before I can answer he gives me a hug, a sweaty one, although his smell isn't that objectionable. It's actually quite nice - masculine I suppose. I pat his back in a fruitless attempt to make the entire thing appear as one of those friendly guy-hugs, but the fool just pulls me closer.<p>

"I really like you Hermione," he says and I can't help but cringe a little bit, if only on the inside. "I know that you don't feel the same way.. exactly.. but I think you could. As I've said before, we would make a good couple. No, forget that, we would make _the best_ couple. So can you please just give me a try?"

I am suddenly overcome by a flood of self-loathing. Self-loathing because I fear that my aversion towards Abraxas is unjust and a thing of cruelty on my part. Self-loathing because I have to turn this poor man down, even though, he is not that poor, and even though, he will find an other distraction in no time. Maybe even tomorrow. Or today, on his way home from school. Maybe some girl will forget her stupid-looking mitten and he will pick it up, with a chaste look on his face and they will fall in love. Happily so. Or maybe he is going to die alone – never being satisfied by any woman or man. Grey-haired and grumpy with callus on his feet, he will take his last breath in a well-known solitude. Maybe, just maybe, we could be good together, if I were to try to like him, to force myself to love him just so he will never know of that pain which I am about to give him..

"I'm sorry Abraxas, I just don't feel that way about you. You're a good friend – a great friend.. but that's all." I think I am close to tears, but I don't know if they are those of irrationally strong compassion, or of the frustration of it all.

"It's okay," he whispers, as if I am the one in need of comfort. "But I won't give up that easily you know. I still like you."  
><em>And I still don't like you<em>, I think, feeling my odd tears descend back to where they came from, still captivated in his embrace. Why must everything always be so easy for him? Can he not mourn the fact that I have turned him down in a just way? Why must_ I_ be the one to cry? Shouldn't that be him? Crying his heart out and then forget I ever happened. Why must he be _so_ frustrating? Or me, why must _I_ be so frustrated by him? And why, for the life of me, did I ever feel sorry for him? Even if it had only been for a second or so.  
>He's fine. He is always. Bloody. Fine.<br>Of course, I never utter a thought out loud. They're only dumb thoughts after all. Mercilessly spinning around in my over-analytical head.

"It's pointless Abraxas. Just forget me all right? You can even ignore me if you like.. and I won't judge you. If you were to do that, I would understand you." _For once_.

"I can't ignore you! It'll drive me half mad! These few days have been a bloody torture session Hermione. You, pretending you don't know me. Me, doing the same. I just.. can't.. it's hard you know."

For the first time since he captured me within his arms, I meet his gaze. He does seem kind of sad, this arrogant boy. For once, he's not smiling and his eyes hold something similar to that which is pain. I pull my lips up into a resemblance of an encouraging smile, squeezing his arms.

"I know Abraxas. But it's for the best," I whisper, and once again, I am able to experience pity on his behalf. Regardless of my own feelings (or lack therof) for the boy, I don't want him to be hurt.

"Is it because of Tom?" he then says and I am immediately pulled out from the focus on overbearing emotions, replacing it with an empty dread, creeping slowly up my back like a giant spider.

"What do you mean?" I ask, chiding him.

For a moment it looks like he is going to tell me to forget it, like I told him to forget me. But his curiosity must have overruled what other thoughts he might have had because then he says; "Has he.. Did he say something about it? About you and me I mean."

"No," I lie, keeping the answer firm. It's not like it is of importance anyway.

He bites his lip, still afraid of saying what he wants, but doing so anyway. "He's very protective of you, your brother."

"Well, he_ is_ my brother."

The answer doesn't seem to agree with him. "I suppose.. But you're not really siblings, are you though? I mean, you're both adopted."

"Yeah, so what?" I mumble with my eyebrows together. "Are adopted siblings any less the siblings than those of blood ties?"

Abraxas holds up his two hands in the air, like he means to surrender. "Of course not! I do not mean to offend, but I mean.." he chews his lower lip like he is wishing for it to come off now, "I don't know what I mean, okay? Just don't be angry with me."

"Look, I do not know what happened between you and Tom. But let me tell you, Tom is my family. Blood relations or not."

"Of course," he says, still holding his hands up, "of course, I get that."

"Good," I say, not being able to say anything else. He mumbles something under his breath and I awkwardly search around the grounds for a topic, before giving up and bidding him goodbye. The blond looks happy to see me go for once and I feel his eyes on my back the entire way back to the main entrance.  
>I'm not certain, but for a second I swore that I had heard him mutter; "<em>I'm just not sure that <em>he_ gets that._"

* * *

><p>Tom walks me home, like he has done everyday this week, with the exception of the one day when his penis lead him elsewhere. Bellatrix is Tom's girlfriend - according to Bellatrix - and speaks to him from the wonder between her thighs. Alas, she is the one holding Tom's penis in a tight grip (not tight enough if most rumours are to be believed though; Tom has never been known for being faithful towards anyone). The girl is overall stunning, with black hair much like Tom's, and an untamed aura about her, displayed in her dark eyes.<br>Tom rarely speaks of Bellatrix in my company, only acknowledging her mere existence if I am the one to have brought her up first. Often, I do it as a part of a joke, seeing as Bellatrix's feelings for my brother is anything but a joke.  
>She is obsessive to say the least.<br>When I ask Tom about it he just shrugs his shoulders, saying that there are other parts of her which he appreciates. I won't ask him _what _parts.

"I don't need you to lead me home Tom, I'm not a baby," I exclaim while speeding up my steps, still prickly over the conversation with Abraxas from earlier that day. Neither does Tom's presence ease me. He is walking beside me like a good lump of uselessness, not speaking or even pretending that I am there. Just walking beside me like we used to do when we were young, before attending secondary school and he just decided that he didn't like me anymore. Now, he speeds up too, to keep in line with my footsteps. This farce is becoming ludicrous. The young Tom always answered me in kind words. Taking my hand in his and pressing it reassuredly. Last week's Tom would have yelled at me for no reason after a long healthy inner battle with himself on whether or not to yell at me. This week's Tom just stays cool and quiet – simply following me without any visable traces of that bottomless rage he always seemed so eager to ventilate on me.

"Aren't you supposed to be with Bellatrix or something?" I ask, forcing a reaction out of him by posing one of the prohibited questions.  
>But Tom does not flinch.<p>

"She is not my girlfriend. Even is she is adamant in her belief of so."

"Yes, well, neither am I, so why don't we just seperately walk our ways like we used to. Okay?"  
>For just a fraction of a second, an evident anger takes hold of his face, making his handsome features become crooked. Still, he says nothing.<p>

"If I were you, I would just get used to the idea of always having Bellatrix in my life. Most likely, you'll end up marrying her.. seeing as she won't let you marry anyone else. Oh, I can picture it now – her dragging you in handcuffs, duct tape and leash to the alter. It will truly be the happiest day of her life."  
>I laugh, but Tom remains silent, scowling with eyes as dark as thunder. Once again, I pick up my steps, so he won't have a sudden impulse to grasp my arm harshly or accidentally hurt me in some other manner. At least I believe it to be accidental - I never ever felt that Tom would hurt me on purpose. I tell myself that he is not aware of his own strength.<br>I have never really been afraid of Tom either.. just cautious.

Suddenly, after a time of silence, the boy speaks. "You have nothing to be jealous about Hermione, family is for life after all."  
>I laugh, walking ahead of him.<p>

"Tom for life. Oh the joy.." I mutter under my breath, theatrically rolling my eyes even though he can't see me.  
>Neither do I see him take a light hold of my hair, pulling the strands ever so carefully through his long fingers in a gesture most gentle.<br>Sensing it, I tell myself it is a bug.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I have seen a lot of "Dazed and Confused" titles during my various tours through the fanfiction-land. Good music do linger. And FYI: my tummy hurts from eating too much chocolate in bed. #yolo?  
><strong>


	4. Crossing Borders

**Chapter 4: Crossing Borders**

"So children, how was school?"

"Fine," we answer in unison. Everyday is the same ordeal. Our mother asks us about our day and we answer in cut words. _Fine, good, as it always is_, and so on. From time to time, we are made to go into details. Tom first, then me. Today, we simply enjoy our dinner in a comfortable silence, until dessert is served and our father comes home. He sits down and tells us about an incident with a patient, speaking in a low voice and showing a grave face; crow's feet around his eyes. Our father is a soft man at heart but often keeps his face strong and unyielding, like showing emotions would make him appear weak. Mother can be the same way, filled to the brink with that semi-senseless pride. _Pride in all its glory_, I think, _but it should never be a priority in matters concerning life and the living._  
>I feel slightly like a hypocrite upon my thought though, seeing as I myself carry a hecatomb of pride.<br>As conversation continues, I suddenly hear Tom utter, in that over-sweet voice of his;

"Actually, I think we ought to talk about Hermione's boyfriend."  
><em><br>I could kill him. That evil little fu.._

"Boyfriend? What boyfriend Hermione?" Three deep creases plows their way through my mother's forehead.

"No boyfriend. None whatsoever. Tom is just joking." Under the table I poke his thigh with my fork. Not nearly as hard as I ought to do. What is his plan this time I wonder?

"His name is Abraxas. He's in the same class as me," Tom continues. Grabbing the fork under the table, and my hand as well in the process. "And he's very fond of our Hermione."

"Is he now? And how long has he been holding the boyfriend-title?" my mother's voice is sour, like cheap red wine and unripe grapefruit.

"Never. He has never held it mom. Tom's just being an arse."

"Language Hermione."

"Right.. sorry.. Tom's just being a behind."

She sighs overdramatically like some great tragedy has hit us all, while I subtly try to wrestle my hand out of Tom's grip. He's indefatigable and I soon find myself just holding the fork between my sweaty fingers. Still, Tom's hand stays put. After a while, his thumb starts making circulating movements over mine. Gently caressing my thumb and forefinger in a manner that is almost soothing. The table is silent. Tom is sitting on the left side of me and poking at his tiramisu with his left hand. Mother and father are seated across the table, unaware of any discomfort on my part. And I do feel discomfort, Abraxas' words ringing in my head. _Nonsense_.

"Would you please pass me a napkin Tom?" my little voice then says.

He turns his head fully to meet my eyes and I stare defiantly at him. He lets go of my hand to reach for the napkins and I mumble a thanks as I make a show out of wiping my mouth.  
>Always keeping my hands above the table.<p>

* * *

><p>As I regard my reflection in the mirror, I wonder what in there it is that Abraxas might see that I don't. In my opinion I am perfectly ordinary - nothing worth a second glance really - but then again, it is so hard to be objective when it comes to yourself. Perhaps I have been pretty all this time without knowing it? For I do not think that a boy like Abraxas would like me solely based on my stubborn personality. But then again, I might be surprised..<br>My hair, which used to be the equivalent of a bird's nest has made peace with gravitation and is now making soft ways down to the curves of my breasts. I have a lithe body and overall small features, but am unmistakably of the female gender. My face though, holds no real charm. Plain brown eyes, a freckle or two spread out over my nose. Nothing out of the ordinary. Without loosing eye-contact with myself, I reach for my hairbrush but find that is it not there where I put it this morning, next to water tap of the sink. Even with my bookworm-status and prissy reputation, I am not an organised person. Often, I just put my things where there is a decent space to be found – a trait that is slowly driving my mother into madness. A missing hairbrush does therefore not surprise me, but going through every space of the bathroom, I am still unable to find it. Annoyed, I look through the mess in my room, checking first and foremost my desk, but nothing. As I walk through the corridor, I pass Tom's room, which is located next to mine. The door is slightly ajar and upon knocking I find it empty. Tom's stuff is in perfect order. I sometimes suspect him of having a light case of OCD.  
>Hearing the voices of my parents and Tom in the living room, accompanied with the sound of the tele, I take liberties.<br>There is a minimalistic style to Tom's room. A bookshelf filled with books, a small military-made bed, a desk and a dresser. The dresser holds a couple of frames of us, his family, but other than that, there is no personality to the room.  
>As I go through the drawers of his desk, I come upon one drawer that is locked. Instantly, I am determined to open it, never wanting a mystery to remain unsolved.<p>

Hairbrush completely forgotten, I go back to the doorway to assure myself that the rest of my family is still seated in front of the tele, I return to the desk, examining the lock to see what kind of method would be best applied. A hairpin might do it, but I never learnt the skill and I am sure that Tom, with his hawk-eyes would notice if I were to leave any scratches. No, I must find the key.  
>Seeing as Tom is a practical person, the key is most likely to be in the room or on Tom himself. Now, I do not actually think that Tom carries the key on him, as he would be worried about losing it, no, it must be in the room.<br>Once again, I return to the doorway to reassure myself of the dreaded three remaining stationary. I look through the other drawers again, but finding nothing but notebooks and other various sorts of papers. Feeling brave, I even dare myself to look under the mattress of his bed, careful not to crease the duvet covers. But it is not until I am near giving up, as I hear the increasing sound of the heavy rush of adrenaline pumping through my system, that an idea strikes. After been standing dead-still and looking at the photographs on the dresser, I slowly make my way up to them, carefully as if I am afraid to disturb the peace.  
>Opening the back of the frame of the four of us - mother, father, Tom and me - I find nothing. The same goes with the other two, but on the fourth and last one, the one holding only me and Tom, I find a key. For a second I stop breathing, regretting the action even before it has been done.<br>_You don't want to know Hermione_, a little voice inside me says. Another one preaches about the importance of privacy.  
>With the click from the key in the lock, I drown the noises.<p>

Carefully I pull out the drawer, casting paranoid looks over my shoulder as I do so.  
>I do not know what I expected to find, but the contents do disappoint me. A black diary is all there is, with the engravement of <em>T. M. Riddle<em> in gold letters. I vaguely remember it as the diary my father gave Tom three christmases ago.  
>When I lift it from its place, a hairpin trapped in the last page of the diary falls out and lands within the drawer. It chimes strangely loud in the room. Echoing throughout it.<br>I randomly open the diary, coming upon a day, dated a week ago. My eyes jump between the words until they settle upon a spot.

_"It bothers me. I know it shouldn't - that it never should - but it does. This creature has been brought to life to torture me it would seem.. Invading my every thought, haunting my dreams - and my nightmares too, like the most delicate of ghosts. Hear, hear! – it would seem as if I am attempting poetry! No, I still have my common sense intact, be that on my deathbed.. No, frankly put, I would not waste words on my deathbed, I fuck her into it. Hard."_

Feeling weirdly out of breath I close the diary, deciding for now that I don't want to know. I move to lay back the queer thing when the hairpin caughts my attention. It is turquoise with a little star at one end of it. The star is covered with rhinestones, some of which have fallen off. At closer inspection, it is familiar – for it is mine.  
>Being taking over by a strange calmness, I put the hairpin in between the pages of the diary again, laying it down in its wooden room and pushing the drawer in, shutting it off from the light.<br>Some things are better remained in the dark.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hope you liked it, because my neck did not. Ouch, I say. Ouch.**


	5. While My Guitar Gently Weeps

**Chapter 5: While My Guitar Gently Weeps**

_Who is it?_  
>That is the nagging question that has kept me rolling restlessy in my bed throughout the night. Who is it that keeps Tom restless at night? That he wishes, as he so bluntly put it, to fuck on his deathbed. My head spins rapidly and my high pulse can't seem to find a glimmer of rest. It is not like I am totally oblivious.. I have my theories. That does not make the lines in which those theories run in more acceptable though. <em>It was your hairpin Hermione. Yours. You.<em>  
>No.<br>I shake my head vigorously, feeling my neck spur in the process. _It isn't so. I'm his_ sister. Just the idea of it is mental. We may not share the same blood, but we have shared an entire upbringing together. We have shared parents, vacations, dinner, even clothes.. all those innocent pleasures that comes with being a family. At the word "pleasure" I shiver. Pleasure should be a word of innocence when connected to your family at least. Having thought too hard about this, I hold on to the consolation that there isn't a name. That when I looked through Tom's diary, I did never make out a name. It could be anyone for all I know.. Maybe I will share a laugh with myself over this in the end.  
>But the need is clear. I must go back. I must cross the threshold to anxiety again and look through the damned book until I find a name that can put my worry to rest.<br>Some things might be better left in the dark, but help me, for I am aware of the moving shadows in there and they keep me up at night.  
>I need to know if the shadow is a dog or a wolf.<p>

At breakfast I can scarcely breathe. Mother always insists on us eating breakfast together and I am afraid that an early leaving on my part, would arouse unnecessary attention. As protection, I have brought a book, one which I can use as a refuge and escape into if necessary. My mother is reading one part of the newspaper and my brother another.  
>I study the little black ants on the yellowed paper. <em>It will soon make sense again<em>, I comfort myself.  
>When I look up to stir my tea, I accidentally lock gaze with Tom.<br>He is looking at me intently. Curiously almost.  
><em>He knows<em>, I think, encaptivated by the sound of my heart, beating faster and faster, while simultaneously trying to climb up my throat. _He knows I went through his things_.  
>He is going to kill me.<br>The notion is ridiculous, but in the moment I believe it. For I have never been as afraid of Tom as I am during that second. I have never even feared him before! The second our eyes meet and I can almost read his thoughts through the apple of his eyes. Through those black holes he is silently telling me that he knows, that he knows what I have been up to, _that he will punish me for it_.  
>After that second has passed, I feel silly and I find myself blushing as I look down at my toast. This is Tom we're talking about. Not some random stranger. You're brother, <em>Tom<em>.  
>Still, a part of me wants to cry, like the relief of it all will kill that tension.<p>

"I'm going," I say as I tuck my book under my arm and take my plate.

"Wait Hermione." Tom's voice stops me. I turn around.

His face reveals nothing, not an emotion, not a thought. _Who is this person?_

"You forgot your mug," he says, pointing with his fork towards said object.

"Thanks," I say, quickly grabbing it and making for the kitchen.

* * *

><p>After school I hurry home, not wanting to be accompanied by a certain individual. But my worry is unfounded, for halfway home, I get a text from Tom telling me not to wait for him and that he going out with Bella today. One problem less in the world it would seem. With earbuds plugged into my ears, I let the music drown all my thoughts, in preparation to later be buried by them. Singing along to "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" by The Beatles, I skip home, allowing myself to feel unburdened.<br>The house appears empty when I arrive. Just like I want it. I decide to act fast, pulling out my earbuds, but still singing along. _I don't know how you were diverted.._ "Hello!" I scream in the hall, in case someone is home - no one answers. _..you were perverted too.._ I put down my bag and hang up my coat_. ..I don't know how you were inverted.._ and then I run swiftly up the stairs_. ..no one alerted you_.

The fact that I find Tom's key lying within the same frame as last time, diminish my concern of him having found out about my snopping through his stuff. Nervous, I open the drawer, finding the diary to be in the same place as it was yesterday also. It still does not quell my nervosity, I can feel those butterflies - or is it woodlouses? – tumbling around my belly.  
>There is no new note so I go a bit further back, searching for a name. Soon I conclude it to be impossible as Tom refers to every person only by one letter. But reading through the content should lead me to an answer – still I am not sure I want to know it.<p>

Dated two months ago.

_"I have a new addiction concerning S, or tendency if you will. Whenever she bathes or showers, I stand outside the door, listening to the stream of water, the little moans of pleasure that escapes her delicious mouth and the faint sound of her voice, humming in unfamiliar tunes. It comforts me as well as excites me.  
>I picture myself in there with her. Fucking her up against the tile, while mother is outside the door. Her body is wet and soapy and I have my hand in her mouth to stop her from screaming. Not over her mouth, but in, and she bites me, <em>hard_, so she won't scream. And I have my nose pressed into her neck, her beautiful, slender neck, and mumble soothing words against her skin, that vanilla-scented skin. I tell her that she must calm herself or mother will hear. I tell her that while my thumb brushes over her clit and she whimpers desperately, close to tears. Tears of pleasure or the tears of the pain that comes with holding back. There's no telling. My voice edges her on and so does the thrill of almost being caught. _Behave_, I tell her, and her dark, watery eyes meets mine and she pleads with me, silently. _Fuck me_, they say, _please fuck me Tom_. And I obey, because I'm not able to deny her anything._

_The thoughts I have about her should fill with me shame. I am almost worried by the fact that they don't._  
><em>Almost.<em>  
><em>Usually, I go into the bathroom after her, just so I can linger in the after-presence of her showering. Then I wank to the smell of her vanilla-scented shower gel. That's how depraved I have become. I almost cried of joy the first time I found this outlet for my.. whatever this is. When I by accident walked by the bathroom while she was showering and I heard her moan. In my mind, her hand was between her legs and she was thinking of me. Like I'm always thinking of her."<em>

Even though the name is not there, there is no question as to whom Tom is referring to. Me. It can only be me. Only me that he can have that kind of access to – unless he has taken to breaking into other houses and listening to women showering. It is the alternative that makes most sense, sadly. But S.. S can stand for anything. Anything and nothing.  
>My gaze fastens on the apple-tree in our garden, which never found its source of love and has become tiny and weak in the process.<br>I am repulsed. There is no other word for it. It is sick. _Sick sick sick_.  
>A big part of me still denies it and I am eager to let the rest of me agree with that part.<br>_There is still hope. There is no name. It might not be you. There is always the possibility of you being wrong._  
>But I am so rarely wrong.<p>

I hear the front door open and I quickly put the book back, locking the drawer, before leaving the key and running into my own room.

"Hermione?" I hear my father shout.

I ignore him and let my face collide with the soft pillow on my bed. It smells of vanilla.  
>And it is not until there, on safe ground with my door closed, that I allow myself to cry.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: We are moving forward people. I just like a slow build-up. Also, out of the four Beatles, I would so pick George. There. I've said it. Wanna fight about it?**


	6. Of Hummingbirds

**Chapter 6: Of Hummingbirds  
><span>**  
>"Is there something wrong Hermione? You're not eating."<p>

I put down the glass of water I have been holding, to briefly meet my mother's gaze.  
>What to say? The <em>truth<em>? Oh, may I find it in my heart to laugh at the truth._  
>Oh nothing mother, it just seems as if my brother, you know - your son, has inappropiate thoughts about me – his sister. Other than that, there's nothing wrong. Nothing, whatsoever.<em>  
>But of course, I do not say that. Mother, father and I are seated at the table for dinner, with Tom still being out with Bellatrix and most likely doing every unspeakable act under the sun to her, no, <em>with<em> her. I wonder if he thinks of me when he is doing _that_. That unspeakable thing. My stomach turns.  
>..But then again, he has never been much of a monogamist. It would be most strange if he was mentally loyal towards this.. this perverted idea of me, when real people's feelings does not concern him in the least.<p>

"Actually I don't feel so well. May I be excused from the table?"

Mother frowns. She is really pretty still, while frowning.  
>"Okay honey, go lie down and see that you get well fast okay? Do you want me to make you some tea? I bought that new brand you seem to like so much."<br>Her motherly overconcern touches me and I manage a sad smile. It is nice to have someone that cares for you, even if it is only your mother and that technically is her job. Still, there are mothers in this world that do not care.  
>"Thanks mom. That would be great."<br>She gives me a heartwarming smile that for some reason fills me up with guilt. _You haven't done anything wrong Hermione. You play no part in this mummer's farce._  
>We only call her mom on special occasions, same with my father. Tom and I began referring to our parents as "mother" and "father" as a joke that one time when we were little, seeing as it sounded so damned courteous. In the end, the names just stuck. They are "mother" and "father" to me now, the joke put aside.<p>

I lie down in bed and try to read one of the old tomes I got lying around, but to no avail. I am distracted, as Ginny and all my good friends kindly have pointed out to me earlier.  
>Distracted by the thought of my brother fucking me.<br>I shudder at the idea and turn so my face is squashed into my pillow. The book falls onto the floor and I realise that I do not even know the title of it. It is all smudged out and replaced by the idea of my brother doing _that_.. The unspeakable act. While I feel my eyelids grow heavier my mind is occupied with unwelcomed thoughts of him touching me, stroking me, caressing me, kissing me, hitting me..  
>Yes, the noble Tom hits me too - in this sexualized version of him that my freakish mind has created. I see him before me now.. Grand and beautiful and cruel.<br>It is not like his playful, taunting pinches, but full-on punches. Blows rain of my face, my stomach and my bum, all the while he is yelling. _Your fault!_ he screams and his porcelaine face hints towards a shade of angered crimson, never quite reaching it fully. _YOUR FAULT! _And then all I can see is a fist, strained white and prickled with his and my blood._  
><em>  
>As I wake up I realise that I must have died. That dream-Tom must have killed me. Fragments of the beating are coming in like waves, entering my brain when I notice something else, pressing myself harder into the mattress as I do so. The voice. The <em>touch<em>.  
>He is sitting at the end of my bed, humming while stroking my ankle with a single digit.<br>I lay still.  
>The humming stops.<p>

"You're awake little sister."

Did he notice the change of my breaths? Are my eyes reflected in the moonlight? Like those of an animal scared stiff?  
>I do not know what to answer. My ability to speak seems to have left me. It is dark. The sun has gone down to be replaced by the soft moonlight, leaking in through the cornes of the curtain, framing the dark shadow that is Tom. He is sitting with his back towards the window and I can neither see his face nor make out what he is wearing. But the shadow is glowing, the edges lighted up by the moonlight.<br>And his shadow is a darker spot in an already dark place.

"I heared that you were ill so I came in to check on you. How do you feel, Hermione?"  
>Still, the stroking of my ankle does not stop. I want to pull back. To kick him.<br>I force myself to answer.

"I.. I'm fine really. Just a little tired I think," I try to make out the time, but the hour hands have faded into the darkness, "what time is it? Shouldn't you be in bed?"  
>Somehow I am able see his delighted sneer, or if I am plainly imagining it – for it seems to shine like a fluorescent light in that dark spot that holds his form.<br>Without answering my question he says;

"Too much homework again? You don't need to overcompensate everytime, I know you're good enough dearest." His forefinger stops drawing its patterns on my ankle and his nail pushes down on the skin, not meaning to hurt me, but to emphasize his words.

Somehow that wakes me up.  
><em>What <em>am I doing? Why am I _letting _him do this to me.  
>I back away from his touch, his finger following me as I move upwards to then drop onto the sheet, as my feet folds in and I am sitting cross-legged.<p>

"What are you doing here Tom? You should be in bed." I say, this time almost commanding it.  
>He moves his face into profile, his straight nose up in the air.<p>

"I find it harder and harder to sleep. Don't you? Is there a full moon?"

"No," I say, narrowing my eyes and giving in to the anger that is slowly pumping out from my heart to my head, feet and fingers. "There's no full moon. I don't find it hard to sleep unless you're sitting on my bed, which speaking of, you should be getting into yours."  
>He ventilates an insincere laugh. <em>Who are you?<em> I briefly think. _Did I ever know you?_

"You're reluctant to have me here," He pulls up a bit, placing his hand on the centre of the small bed. "I wonder why that is. Mayhaps you read something that you ought not to?"  
>And I am choking on my heart, with every ounch of willpower I force my breathing to remain even, my hands to not shake and my head to stay high.<p>

"What are you talking about?" I ask, sounding utterly arrogant to hide the panic.

"Oh Hermione," and he is sitting across from me, in the middle of the bed, "You don't have to pretend that you don't know what I'm speaking of. We _both_ know." His voice that of a person explaining something extremely easy to a stupid child. "You went into my room."  
>Reflexes are telling me to deny it.<p>

"No, I didn't." _Come on, Hermione! Even that stupid child could tell that _that was_ a lie._  
>Tom laughs again, I never think I heard him laugh twice in a row before. But it is not genuine. It is the sound of the amused madman.<p>

"You're so cute." He reaches out to tousle my hair. "Let me remind you then, shall I? You - Hermione Riddle - went into my room, found the key to my drawer in the frame holding you and me, whereupon you _opened _my drawer to read the diary contained within it. No?" Getting more used to the dark, I can see his eyebrows raise up, questioningly.  
>My throat is dry and for a second I am reminded by the dream I had. How he killed me.<p>

"Little liar you," his middlefinger lifts to stroke my nose, whereon I recoil. "So you know now," he exhales, like bored with it all, "what next?"  
>I look at the wall, searching for an answer.<p>

"I can forget it," I whisper, strained by his eyes upon me, "In a year, we'll leave for university, until then.. I can just pretend that I don't now. We will continue our lives, interacting as little as possible and soon enough you will forget.." It feels wrong to say _me_, when I still think of it as being someone else, a totally different person or an alternative non-existing version of me. But before I can pick up my lost thread, Tom is speaking.

"No no no.. That just won't do," and he shakes his head with false graveness. Mocking me, I realise.  
>"That won't do at all, Hermione! Now, don't you have any questions for me? I imagine your head to be <em>quite<em> overloaded right now."  
><em><br>Questions? Of course I have questions but I can't possible pose them.. They.. He.. Stop. Please, somebody, just make it all stop.._

"Well?"

"No. Go away."

"Ouch. Well.. I'm not done yet so I won't leave."  
>My eyes meet his and for the first time that night, I can make out the colour of them, cold grey around a dark pit - a black hole.<br>He is leaning on his right arm now, studying me.

"Say I were to agree upon this proposition of yours. Would you be able to do that? To forget?"

"Yes," I answer directly, but I sound unsure, for I am unsure.  
>He sneers yet again.<p>

"Would you forget that I am on the other side of that wall, wanting nothing more than to erase it? To have you screa.."

"Okay stop it, I couldn't forget it." My hands are over my ears and there is something wet on my cheeks. _Tears.._

"No, no you couldn't."

And he kisses me.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Stupid cliffhanger. Why did I write that? I wanna know what happens! Also, I feel an overwhelming need to tell you people this: I had a dream the other night where Joffrey from Game of Thrones was chased by a reincarnated Fred Weasley in form of a snake. The whole dream, Joffey was chased around the Red Keep by snake-Fred and I just watched until at last, Fred ate him up (starting with his right foot). Now. What does _that_ mean?**


	7. The Shadows of the Moon

**Chapter 7: The Shadows of the Moon**

Tom is kissing me.  
>That is all my mind is able to conjure.<br>_Tom is kissing me Tom is kissing me Tom is kissing me.._  
>His lips feel like velvet, crushed against mine. His tongue gently caressing first my lower lip, then my upper one. Strong, marble hands are placed in my hair, tugging my face closer, holding it in place, making it impossible for me to move. But I can not move. All I am able to do is to think:<br>_Tom is kissing me Tom is kissing me Tom is kissing me._  
>Until he tightens his fists, gripping my curls harder and the mild pain of it awakes me. He moans into my mouth.<br>What am I doing? _Tom is kissing me. _Tom_.  
><em>I put my palms against his chest.

"Stop," I mumble, but the words disappear into his mouth. Are swallowed by the darkness in the room. I am beginning to experience a slight panic, like a prelude to the realisation that I am in fact, drowning; dying. "Stop," I mumble again, louder this time, more desperate, but Tom is lost in his own passion, in the idea of it being shared. With eyes half-closed, he pulls his right hand from my face, placing it on my left hand that is still splayed across his chest, that is still pushing, _pushing_, and he grips my hand, pulling it from his chest and running it down, down, down, bouncing across his stomach and landing.. _there_. On his.. thing. He clutches my hand tightly over it, making me feel him, _the hardness of him_, through his trousers. He groans.

"STOP!" I shout, pushing him off me, feeling the blood flow back to my brain. Almost immediately, I am worried about mother or father hearing; awoken by a scream conjured from their son dry-humping their unwilling daughter.  
>The shame of it almost manages to swallow me whole.<p>

"What the hell are you thinking?" I hiss through clenched teeth.  
>His eyes, that till then have held a drug-like intensity to them, flicker. If it is the light burning out or lit up, I am unable to tell.<br>And suddenly I recognize him again, this creature in front of me. Annoyed Tom is on display. He lifts his eyebrow. His right one. Always the damn right one.

"You allowed it to happen. Don't play coy with me, _sister_. I know you're not as virginal as you make yourself out to be."  
>It is hard to say wheather I feel more angry or more confused.<p>

"What?" I sputter, flinching over the harshness of it.  
>His hands take a hold of my arms, pushing them to my sides, as he glares at me angrily.<p>

"It is your own fault," he hisses, "You're the one that made me this way. You're a tease, Hermione. Skipping around in school, pretending that you don't know that every boy in the room is picturing you naked, your curls splayed out on their bed as they thrust their tiny little cocks into you. Well, no one can touch you, Hermione. You're mine," He shakes me, "You got that? You. Are. _Mine._"  
>The moonlight in the background makes out his face to be ghost-like and grim, as I now have gotten used to the darkness and am able to make out contours. I wish I could not make out his. The darkness held some security.<p>

My mouth is dumbly opened.  
><em>Tom, how can you be so cruel? Don't you know who I am?<em>  
>The unfairness of it all. I shake out of his grasp, snapping my mouth shut again. Feeling an odd calmness take over me as he continues to breathe heavily through his nose.<p>

"Tom. Have you forgotten the fact that I am your sister?" And my tone is calm, a pedagogical ring to it.  
>He just looks at me as if I am speaking a foreign language, unbeknown to him.<p>

"Not my biological sister," he is at last able to spit out.

"No, but to me, you're as good as my biological brother. I.. I love you as a brother Tom."  
>He just shakes his head, not wanting the words to enter his brain. When he meets my eyes, his gaze is hateful.<br>And suddenly, he jumps on me, pinning me onto the bed with his own body. I am laying on my back with my arms pushed against my sides, as I struggle in vain against his strength. A hardness is pressed against the side of my thigh, but somehow I feel secured by the cover that has find its way in between us. _Stupid._

"You little worm you. Stop pretending Hermione. I am done with it. You're attracted to me, you're just too much of a coward to admit it.  
>I look at him, bewildered. Feeling hurt that he actually called me a coward. I fucking hate that word.<p>

"What do y..? Let go Tom. I am not attracted to you." _You stubborn idiot of a person._  
>He opens his mouth to speak again but I won't have it.<p>

"I said. _Let. Go. Tom_." And my voice is filled with poison. So are my heart and head. I experience a serious desire to hurt him right now. Running him over with a car a dozen times seems tempting.  
>His grip on me only tightens as my thoughts spins on. A smirk mars his face.<p>

"You're getting angry. Good. Anger is a _good_ emotion. The truest one you've shown me all night."  
>My lips twitch in frustration, as my body continues to tussle under him, wanting him off, off, off.<p>

"You have Bellatrix," I state, hoping to make his mind travel elsewhere.

"Like it makes a difference. She's a whore, Hermione," he wheezes, so silently I almost don't hear him. And he smiles. And it worries me. "I only fuck her  
>because I can't fuck you. But oh, if I could fuck you.." and his pupils dilate as he looses his clutch on my sides to softly stroke my arms, in a manner most certainly meant to awake some hidden desire within me.<br>I seize the opportunity to headbutt him, but the impact is not as strong as I would have wished it to be. Instead, he just groans in displeasure, wrinkling his forehead. But the distraction of it is all I need to slide from under him, to the side and down onto the floor, landing with my back on my book. My legs are still half-trapped under Tom, but not for too long as he, in anger, pushes them off the bed too.

"This conversation is not over, Hermione." He rubs his forehead where I hit him. I wish to do the same, as headbutting often has the downside of hurting the giver as well as the receiver. But I hold back, knowing it will not help as well as I - irrationally - wish to keep the hurt. The pain soothes me in a way. Distracts me. This must be what all those cutters are into.

"You mean to say that _the abuse_ isn't over?"  
>He snorts. It is amazing how he can do that with grace.<br>He gets off my bed as I rise from the floor.  
>We have a staring competition for a while, standing a couple of feet apart. Not touching.<br>Soon enough, he sickens of it and turns to leave the room.  
>I stand, demostratively not looking at him, but gazing out the window in front of me. If I were to take a few steps forward, I could open the curtains and be greeted by the moon's big, blind eye. But my feet stand still. I am stuck in the shadows of it.<br>The shadows of the moon.  
>Then Tom speaks;<p>

"We're the same you and I. Fate has put us under this roof for a reason. Never forget that, Hermione."  
>With that, he closes the door. And I stand stuck with my eyes locked upon the white light that is seeping through the curtains.<br>_  
>Yes<em>, I think. _To be loving children to a couple that had none. And don't you forget_ that_ Tom._

Feeling invigorated, I lay down in bed again, disgusted by the warmth of it.  
>My pulse is racing rapidly, but this time, it is from anger, <em>not<em> fear. The anger fuels me.  
>I observe an obscure crack on the ceiling for a couple of minutes, directly above my head and only visible to me, who has lived with it for so long. Then I close my eyes, forcing them to remain so for the rest of the night.<br>_Morning, I dare you to come.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I neglected cleaning the house as well as myself for this chapter you guys. That's how much I love pleasing you lovely netizens.  
>And I will be answering reviews and such tomorrow because I really need to sleep right now. May you all find cute pictures of cats!<br>**


	8. Le Cavalier Sans Tête

**Chapter 8: Le Cavalier Sans Tête**

_It really isn't fair that we can't choose how other people regard us._

I suspect most people see me as sort of asexual – well, I have at least interpreted their judgements of me that way. Hermione Riddle: An intellectual aroused solely by books. Never men or - better put - boys.. Silly little boys with one hand down their trousers and the other on their leaning heads; holding in the brain mass that is desperately leaking out of their ears.  
>Seriously, what's to be aroused by?<p>

The description probably holds some truth to it though. I have never regarded myself as being a particulary passionate person (if not an unhealthy obsession to learning counts) and I have barely held any crushes or shared any fleeting romances. And sex? Basically unheard of. People inside of other people struck me as sort of weird. Not gross or unappealing.. just weird. A statement I regretfully made two seconds ago and lead to the scenario where my friends are now gaping at me, like dumb goldfishes, calling _me_ out for being the weirdo. We – as in the "crew" – are having lunch in the cafeteria. Thankfully _and_ to my chagrin, Tom is not here. I woke up from a terrible night's sleep feeling particulary unfaltering on my path to war. So seeing him not seated in his regular spot on the other side of the cafteria, disappoints me just the tiniest bit.  
>Padma, who is seated next to me, pats my back and shakes her head with fake anguish at the same time.<p>

"You always struck me as suited for the part of the nutty professor you know.. untamed hair and stacks of books and paper everywhere in an uncoordinated mess.. Growing old alone with nothing but cats for company.. I hear they eat you when you die. But you'd probably think of that as practical. Like it being enviromental-friendly and all.."

"That's horrible Padma!" I say, redcheeked and flabbergasted. "I do not want to die alone and be eaten by cats!" The others just laugh.  
>Ginny, seated in front of me, shrugs. "Well. Like it or not, that's where your heading."<br>I gave my most heart-chilling glare.  
>She held up her hands in surrender.<br>Chairs scrape.

"Okay, I think that means that we are leaving. Are you coming Neville?" Harry says. The boys have been awfully quiet all day, looking knowingly at other whenever their gazes met, like they were spinning an ill-willed secret, only to stop at times to cast chasteful glances towards their so-called love intrests. They leave in a hurry, almost to the point of it being awkward.  
>Ginny's eyes follow the backs of Harry and Neville before she picks up the thread again, turning her eyes towards me.<p>

"Look, all I'm saying is that you're weird for not wanting a boyfriend.. Or you know - a girlfriend. If you're into that, then that's cool." Ginny makes it sound like a question, like it was my cue to suddenly jump out of a carefully sealed closet.  
>Once again, I glare. Didn't any of my friends know me?<p>

"I do want _a boyfriend_ Ginny. But I want a good one. Not one that will _just_ do.. You know - someone to pass the time with until the next thing comes along."

"So you're waiting for Mister Perfect?" she says with obvious distaste, like doubting my sanity.

"Noooo.." I answer, rolling my eyes before looking at Padma and Luna for support. Padma just watches me much the same way that Ginny does while Luna.. well I don't think Luna even notices that we are there. At the moment, she is picking her food while staring blankly into the air, lost in her own thoughts. How I envy her abilty to just block out the entire world.

"..I just want someone who wants me for _me_.. as cliché as it sounds. One I at least I have one thing in common with."  
>Padma giggles while Ginny sighs.<p>

"One thing? Well. Then you're screwed. The only one I can think of having something in common with you is Tom and that's because he's your brother."  
>I pale at that. I look down on my plate, gaining as much strength as possible as to not let my distress show. Exhaling discretely, I look up again.<p>

"Well, I guess I'm a lost cause then. Mittens, Charlie and Garfield, here I come!"

"If you were to just lower you're expectations somewhat, you'll be fine."  
>And we laugh. I swear laughter can cure diseases.<p>

* * *

><p><em>It really isn't fair how other people choose to regard us.<em>  
><em>Tom regards me as more than his sister. I simply regard Tom as my brother.<br>I want a boyfriend, but I don't want my _brother_ as my boyfriend.  
>And how can it be, that in a world where 50 % are men, Ginny and Padma think there is no one being compatibale with me <em>but_ Tom. Oh, it was all in good fun, but given the circumstances, it hurt. For I am nothing like Tom. I don't wish to be reminded of Tom.  
>Tom is the sick one, not me. Tom is the one with serious mental issues, not me.<br>I am nothing like Tom._

* * *

><p>To my chagrin (and pleasure now.. I presume) I am later caught up by the boy himself and Abraxas. They were standing aloof in the corridor when Abraxas saw me and shouted for me to come over.<br>Brace yourself, Hermione! Tom's sick play will not hit the theater as long as you remain Hermione Jean Riddle.  
>Abraxas gives me a hug, I do not fail to catch the tug of Tom's upper lip, even if it is a fast one, and after which he just nods curtly in greeting. I scrutinize him briefly before returning the cold recognition.<p>

"We were just talking about you," Abraxas declares warmly.

"Only nice things I presume." I look solely at Abraxas but feel Tom's hard eyes upon me none the less. I kind of want to watch Tom in return though; I want to see every unwelcomed expression he makes so I can extinguish them one by one from the face of the earth. When casting a quick look in his direction, he just appears bored. It is the face of my brother Tom - not that creature I saw last night.

"So what were you talking about?"  
>Abraxas strokes the side of his face, flashing the muscles in his well-trained arm while doing so. I fleetingly wonder if it is a conscious choice?<p>

"I had this idea that the three of us should go for a movie or something, you know, do something together. Like, I might not be as smart as you two, but I can hold a thought. tI doesn't have to be a movie though, it can be anything really."  
><em>The three of us? What was he playing at? I'm sure that's synonymous with "hell".<em>

"I don't know Abraxas, I wouldn't want to be the third wheel on your date," I say, trying my best to sound politely disbelieving and not terrified.  
>I smile then as Tom glares. Abraxas laughs, good-humoured as he is.<p>

"Sure it wouldn't be the other way around?" He then says and I instantly see that he regrets it. _Odd. In which way does he regret it? It makes sense if he referred to himself and me.. but me and Tom? Does he know? _I dare not ponder further.

"Leave the idea Abraxas, I'm sure Hermione has better things to do," Tom interjects.  
>Abraxas looks slightly flushed as he meets Tom's eyes, but quickly picks himself up, he is a sportsman after all.<p>

"Well, I just thought that Hermione would be a great tribute to our outings, with her warm personality, pretty smiles and all.." With that he smiles at me and I actually return, even though the statement makes me even more suspicious of his motivations.  
>Tom takes the effort to snort. "I get enough of that at home."<br>I tilt my head.

"Don't take offence brother, I'm sure Abraxas thinks you have a pretty smile too."  
>Abraxas laughs yet again, but this time, I am able to make out the faint movement of Tom's mouth as well, as if finding the thought amusing and disturbing at the same time.<p>

"The prettiest Tom!" Abraxas bursts out, upon which Tom scowls, mad glee in his eyes.

"You're not really my type Abraxas."

"Why? Not crazy enough?" _Bella. Not me._

"No.. insanity you possess, I was thinking more in the lines of lacking female genitals."

"Fair enough."  
>And so the unpleasantness in the air evaporates. I see it as my cue to escape gracefully and pat Abraxas on the arm before turning to Tom and giving him a nod.<p>

When I turn around and begin to walk I hear Tom's voice, not really shouting as much as talking loudly;

"You haven't forgotten yet have you?"  
>I pause in my footsteps, not knowing what to say, if I am to say anything.<p>

"I see you outside the schoolgates then, Hermione!"  
>And his voice holds the clearest, sickest, delight.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: For those interested, the title means "The Headless Horseman" and is in this case based on a song from my favourite french singer, Damien Saez. The lyrics describes a creature made without a heart and tears in his eyes (surprisingly not without his head, but maybe that would be stating the obvious). He has a soul out of steel and appears unhappy with his lack of emotions, wanting to bring light to his soul and dreaming of a woman with two hearts, generous enough to give him one. Obviously, I drew a parallel to the relationship between Hermione and Tom sooo.. there you go.**


	9. At a Café with Venus in Furs

**Chapter 9: At a Café with Venus in Furs  
><strong>  
>I take back everything I ever stood for. Knowledge is destructive. A source of pain and misery.<p>

At least that is how I now see it as I lean back in the chair, crossing my legs yet again. (I am constantly crossing and re-crossing them in lack of finding something else to occupy myself with, it would seem.) Tom is seated in front of me, Abraxas next to me and in front of him, Ginny is nibbling at a cake.  
>If I had not known of Tom's perversion, than maybe this would have been just the slightest bit less awkward. As it is now I am begging for some kind of distraction to take place at the café we are at. I actually find myself wishing for someone at the near table to choke - just so I can perform the Heimlich maneuver and get the hell out of the confinement of the little square table.<br>Yes. Ginny, Abraxas, Tom and me are at a café together. Horrible indeed.  
>It does not help that to the untrained eye, it appears to be a double-date. It is not, I must clarify.<br>If it was, it would be the work of that evil, behorned guy with a liking for fire. What with; Abraxas liking me, Ginny liking Abraxas and not knowing that he likes me (because I, being a bad friend, have chosen not to tell her) and not to forget, Tom and his disgusting sister complex.  
>It is all so very very wrong.<p>

It started when Ginny and I walked to the schoolgates, bumping into Tom and Abraxas - both presumably waiting for me. Tom was, to me, visibly disturbed by Abraxas' presence, while I, for once, was grateful for it. The words which he left ringing in my head earlier that day had not yet begun to fade.. still going in repeat and making my stomach churn. Abraxas was smiling, thinking he would take us up on that demented offer he made in the hallway - _that me, Tom and he would do something together._ Of course, I did not want to be alone with Tom, so I accepted it, hoping he would pass - dumbly forgetting the fact that Tom did not want me alone with Abraxas.  
>..And that is when Ginny invited herself. Undoubtedly wanting to get closer to Abraxas.<br>And so we ended up in a café, trying to make awkward conversation seem less awkward. The only thing missing now to fulfill that behorned guy's twisted fantasy would be Bella, but at least he was merciful on that account.  
>Considering all, Tom was being extremely well-behaved. He did not give me those intense stares that I now found myself dreading every constant hour of the day, neither did he play footsie or something equally ridiculous. He just sat there, pondering the taste of his coffee, interjected a comment from time to time much like I did. Ginny and Abraxas were the ones put in charge of talking, probably because they were the ones unaware of how truly fucked up this constellation was.<br>They were getting along really well, which brought me some hope. If Abraxas and Ginny were to fall in love, that would be like killing two birds with one stone. Maybe if I were to look under the table, I would find Ginny playing footsie with Abraxas? One can wish.  
>Either way, my problem lay mostly with the third bird.<br>The twisted raven.

_Kiss the boot of shiny, shiny leather, shiny leather in the dark.._

"Isn't this your favourite band, Hermione?" Tom says, referring to the background-music of the café. I briefly look up to meet his gaze but his face betrays no emotions.

"Velvet Underground? Yeah, it's one of them," I answer, wondering where he is to go with this.

"Mm, I remember now – you're always listening to this one when you're fed up with studying. The lyrics are quite.. raunchy. I never noticed that before."

Oh. So that's where he went.

_..Taste the whip, in love not given lightly, taste the whip, now_ plead _for me.._

"Yeah well, the lyrics aren't important," I state, wanting to leave the subject behind us. Ginny and Abraxas have become silent and are now watching Tom and me curiously.

"I quite disagree with you there, lyrics can make or break a song."

"Whatever you say." I roll my eyes and cross my legs. _Again_.

"Well put, Tom." Abraxas then interjects. "Although I didn't know that you liked music. Figured you out to be one of those people who just found it annoying."

"Well, there's a lot of things you don't know about me Abraxas."

I do not fail to miss the double entendre.

_..Please don't forsake him, strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart._

"Hermione, we should be going home soon, don't you have homework to do?"

"I've already done it Tom, haven't you?" I snarl. To Abraxas and Ginny it must seem as if I am on my period or something, I am never quite _this_ grumpy. Although I suppose I have a general grumpiness to me.. not as bad as Tom though.

"Of course. I found the assignment to be ridiculously easy. Sometimes I wonder if the teachers even try to make them challenging. Maybe it's just easier for them this way."

Ginny giggles. "What do you know! We can't all be geniuses like you guys. I for one, am only happy when the homework is _too_ easy."

Now it is Tom turn to roll his eyes.

"Which it never is when it comes to you," I hear him mutter under his breath.  
>Thankfully, Ginny does not hear, turning to Abraxas once again. Tom has never really taken a shine to Ginny. Always referring to her as "that moronic redheaded friend of yours" when in conversation with me. Up until today, I was not even sure that he knew her name. Tom might be smart, but he only bothers with that knowledge which he deems to be useful. The names of my friends not being part of it.<p>

Then, to make the evening more disturbing, Abraxas put his hand on my knee. He does it like an afterthought, like it is a natural consequence to the laughter he shares with Ginny.  
><em>Laugh with Ginny. Put hand on Hermione's knee. <em>Like that._  
><em>I jumped a little at the sudden movement, at the unwelcomed touching. It was not noticeble, but I swear that Tom is looking suspiciously at me now. _God don't let him know_.  
>Abraxas is rubbing his thumb against the inside of my thigh as I continue to hold my coffeecup. It really is an intimate thing, being touched in this manner. I am actually not adverse to it and therefore let his hand remain there, even if the person performing the task is less desirable. But then again, why not Abraxas? Is his constant happiness and easy way enough of a reason for me to not give him a shot? Maybe we would actually be good together. Given, that he isn't actually playing footsie with Ginny right now.<br>_Well, Hermione. It certainly is a step up from _your brother_._  
>Ugh head. Don't remind me.<p>

After what seems like forever, we decide to call it a day. Throwing money on the table, I am fast on my feet, pulling the door open and breathing in the fresh air, not really caring if I am being rude.

"Tired?" Tom asks as he comes up behind me. He hands me my scarf which I left behind in the hurry to get away.

"You know I am," I say, accusingly. My head twirling with ideas of how to escape walking home with him.

"I could have made you more tired," he purrs, pulling the scarf from my hands again and beginning to fasten it around my neck.

"_Shut_ up," I say, casting a glare towards the glassdoor and tugging my scarf free from his clutch.

Soon, Abraxas comes out, with Ginny at his heels. She is talking vividly as Abraxas grunts non-committedly in confirmation. For a second, as he regards us, I imagine he looks worried, but then his face smoothens and he is the old, carefree Abraxas again.  
><em>Maybe I could do with some carefree people, once in a while.<br>_I give him one of my cutest smiles, feeling slighly guilty for Ginny in the process. Luckily, she is too busy pratteling along to notice.  
>Abraxas seems gladdened by it though, giving one of his toothy ones in return.<p>

"Are you planning on staying here the entire night, sweet sister?" Tom mewls. "I know where you live, let me take you home."

"Actually.." Actually I have nothing to spare in my defense. _No Tom, I don't want to walk home with you because I'm afraid you might molest me.. _Funny as it might sound to some, it is serious business.

"Fine," I sneer then, not wanting to think about it anymore. "May I just say goodbye to my friends, oh mighty Tom? Some of us do not think of politeness as a waste of time."

"Couldn't tell with you escaping the café so quickly."

"I have a headache and wished for some air, do you have a problem with that, _brother_?" My teeth clenched.

"That explains it I guess. And _please_, go ahead, _sister_."

The two spectators appear amused with the exchange of words. As I hug Ginny, her mouth reach my ear and she whispers quietly; "Ten quid says I'm going home with Abraxas tonight."

I can not help but to giggle a bit. "Say no more, I don't wish to be a poor woman." _Me and Abraxas, Ginny and Abraxas, what does it matter? As long as it's not me and Tom._

I let go of her and hug Abraxas as Tom shakes Ginny's hand. Ever the overfriendly one, Tom is.

"Well then, see you guys tomorrow!"

With that we turn to leave, Tom taking my bag as we are out of sight.  
><em>Just two siblings on their way home.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks for the lovely reviews! Hopefully you will continue to like where this is going. I have some ideas that might be a little unorthodox (remember the part about me being f*cked up?), but just stay with me, okay? *shakes hand***


	10. Beyond Caring

**Chapter 10: Beyond Caring**

We are out of sight.  
>The pavement seems foreign and the moon obscure, seethed in bleached cotton candy clouds. My hands are shaking, tucked in the pockets of my coat; from the cold, I am sure. Hiding half of my face in the scarf I cast a sideway glance towards Tom. He has thrown my bag over his right shoulder. I am walking at his left. He is whistling, as if he is happy. Strange. Tom might do the odd humming once in a while, but he never whistles. It such a relaxed thing to do.<p>

"Oh, for God's sake – relax! I'm not going to jump ya."  
>The statement startles me.<p>

"What?"  
>He exhales like I said something stupid, pulling at my bag which is constantly sliding off his shoulder.<p>

"I'm not going to touch you, Hermione. I'm not going to pull you into a dark ally and 'have my way with you' as the euphemism goes.. I'm just going to walk you home."  
>I discreetly let out a breath I did not know that I had been holding.<p>

"Does that comfort you?" He asks, hearing the exhale. He turns his whole torso in my direction. There is a hint of sarcasm to the tone, but then again, when isn't there one?

"Of course it does!" I snarl, picking up the pace.

He chuckles lightly, pulling at my bag again.

"No. In the end, you will be begging me for it."  
>My face blanches for a second, then I turn my head over my shoulder to meet his gaze, giving him my most heart-chilling stare.<p>

"No, I will not." I emphasize every syllable.

"You wanna make a bet?"

"No. I wanna get home." I am utterly annoyed now and want to put the day behind me.

"Why not? Are you scared?"

"Nooo.. I'm just not four."

"Four year olds make bets? And pray tell.. where do you find these advanced four year olds?"

"Oh do shut up." We are practically running now, when I suddenly stop, turning around and facing him. Tom is looking half-confused, then I ungently pull my bag out of his clasp. He tightens the grip by mere reflex before letting go. I stumble backwards.

"Well then. Goodbye!" I exclaim in an irritated, loud voice, before I run.

He does not come after me.

* * *

><p>Three weeks passes and nothing happens.<br>Tom is acting overly normal. No crude remarks or suspicious behaviour whatsoever. We eat breakfast together in silence, go to school separately, attend classes and try our best to be out of each others way during recess and lunch. Then we return from school separately. He spends his freetime with homework, Bella and his out-of-school friends. I spend mine with homework, the Gang and Kierkegaard. It is as if the incident with the diary never happend.  
>I realise that this is a new strategy of his.<br>The wait for something abnormal to happen is slowly driving me insane and he knows it.  
>He is waiting me out.<p>

So I occupy myself with different projects, acting next to hyperactive. Never really allowing myself to think clearly.  
>Then one day Abraxas comes up to me during recess.<br>As it turns out, he and Ginny did not have sex or anything even resembling it that horrible evening at the café. So I earned ten quid and got an earsore from Ginny's talk about the man in question, until she finally decided to give up.

"Let's face it Hermione," she had said, a week ago. "If it hasn't happened by now, it most likely won't ever happen. The man is simply blind!"  
>Wherupon I eagerly praised her logic and discreetly commented on the cuteness of a certain friend of ours by the name of Harry. She nodded her head as if considering it and I made a mental cartwheel in the cafeteria.<br>Well. That was until the day Abraxas decided to approach me again.  
>We have been interacting very briefly in the hallway and such, but I always been suitably busy, so we have not had the time to do much more than exchange a simple 'hello' and 'how are you?'.<p>

Today is different though.

I am seated in the library, doing a spellcheck on my homework as a stool is pulled out beside me.

"Hello stranger," the blond man says and I curse inwardly.

"Hi.. How are you Abraxas?" I say, trying to look extremely busy.

"Good, good. Listen, what do you say about getting together for a movie or something tonight? You can bring Tom if you like."

_Well, there's a trap if I ever saw one._

"Oh I don't know Abraxas," I say, focusing on the screen of my laptop. "I have a paper I need to hand in next week.. I don't know if I'm able to make it."

"I'm sure you've already finished writing it! Come on Hermione, let loose for a change!"  
><em>Ugh. He used the term: 'let loose'. I'm <em>not_ that wind up! And of course my paper is done already! It's due next week!_

"Are you going to bring anybody?" I ask then.  
>The question startles him.<p>

"Ehm, no.. I've checked and everyone's pretty much busy. I thought it would just be us three. Like the Riddle-siblings plus one."

"Oh, hm.." I turn my eyes to him then. He is sitting with his legs turned in my direction, looking very much like a puppy. An arrogant puppy of course - but still - a puppy. Who says no to puppys?

I sigh, cleaning of imaginary dust from the screen.

"Oh alright then.. But Tom can't come."

His eyes widens, but the act appears to be slightly fake. It does not surprise me, I have already figured out that this was his aim to begin with.

"As you will. Just you and me then." He gives off one of his famous smiles.

"You and me," I confirm, not really sure if I am regretting it yet. It might do to get out of the comfort zone. And a cinema seems like a quite harmless way to start.

* * *

><p>Later, we meet up inside the cinema. Abraxas gives me a warm hug. As he take his jacket off, I notice that he has a fancy shirt on and gel in his hair, making it seem even more out of place. I did not even consider taming my own curls, thinking it pointless and an overly date-y thing to do.<br>In my head, we are joined by Ginny and Tom.  
>Even though Ginny says she has given up on Abraxas, I feel slighlty guilty for doing this it's-not-a-date-thing behind her back. Boys do appear to have a negative impact on the friendships of girls, that is no secret. But I tell myself that I will speak to her tomorrow; that I will explain it and she will hug me, maybe cry and yell a bit before we make up over ice cream. Yes. That's what we'll do.<br>Tom has joined us as himself. His true self and not the façade he has put on.  
>His presence never leaves my mind.<p>

In the theatre, we are seated in the back. I insisted on getting my own popcorn and paying for it by myself, trying to kill the date-mood a bit. Abraxas did not seem to mind though.  
>And once in the dark, I can not help but think that this might not be so horrible. Abraxas is warm where Tom is cold. He smiles when Tom does not.<br>We are watching a drama of some sort but the intrigue passes me by. For the first time in weeks, I am allowing myself to think.  
>To think of what is and what might be.<br>It is such an emotional roller-coaster that I find silent tears rolling down my cheeks. Silent tears are fitting. I have always grieved in silence.  
>Abraxas does not notice. He is is regarding the screen with an indifferent face, seemingly not taking the movie in himself.<br>I turn my head slightly to watch him. He is handsome - there is no doubt. I am particulary fond of his nose. A roman nose with a sloping tip.  
>Feeling watched, he meets my eye.<p>

"What?" he whispers.

"Nothing. I just.. It's just.. You're beautiful."  
>He lifts one eyebrow questioningly, as if doubting my words.<p>

"So are you."

A silence passes. Dialogue are performed in the background.

Like sensing that something is wrong or different, he puts his hand on my thigh again. It has been three weeks since it layed there. His hand is warm and the touch comforting.

"Are you okay?" he then proceeds to ask, pulling his eyebrows together.  
>I smile shyly.<p>

"I'm fine," I croak, trying to hold back more tears.

"Sure?"

"I'm just a little bit happy."  
>And as I say it, I realise that it is true. For some unexplicable reason, Abraxas makes me a little bit happy. For the first time in his presence, I do not feel uncomfortable or out of place – I feel good. Abraxas is good.<br>I want to do something out of character for Hermione. I want to embrace this new Hermione, so in an drug-like state I reach over and put my hand on his thigh too. He is wearing jeans and the material feels stiff under my hand. I let my fingers travel up his thigh until they reach that special place where I previously only felt my brother. But Tom is not important. This new Hermione is. Hermione and Abraxas. It has a good ring to it after all.  
>He jumps a little bit at the contact. Then his breathing is coming out hard and fast.<p>

"You don't have to.."

"I want to," I find myself saying, pulling down his zipper as he puts down the popcorn on the empty seat beside him. Apart from us, the two rows in the back are empty. I do not know if I would care, were it not so.  
>I am Hermione Riddle. And I am oblivious to the world.<br>Pushing down his underwear and grasping his length, gently at first, then harder, I stroke him. His fingers on my thigh pushes down and I realise with joy that they will leave bruises.  
>He is watching me from under half-closed eyelids. The image is strangely erotic. The idea of it is strangely erotic: Hermione Granger is wanking of a man in the back of a theatre.<br>It is all so deliciously wrong in the right way.  
>Then, gripping my head and nestling the fingers of his free hand in my curls, he cums, filling my hand with his seed.<br>His forehead is on mine.  
>His breath is mingling with mine.<br>No one moves.  
>And it is all so very beautiful.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hello lovely lovebugs! My inspiration has been coming up short these passing weeks. I blame the lack of sun and warmth in this god(s)forsaken (yet, I guess, kinda lovely) place. Throughout november, we've had a total estimate of five hours of sun. That's 99,2 % of living in the dark people! Well, gratefully there are other light-sources in my life. Hope you have them too! And oh, right now I'm sorta hyperactive, so I'm hoping to get a lot of writing done these upcoming days!**

**Regarding this chapter.. ****Well, it was necessary, for the direction I'm planning to head in, among other things. If you find it OOC for Hermione, it's because it is. People tend to do things that are out of character for them to discover who they really are. Simply put: this is Hermione exploring her sexuality. Also: this is Hermione rebelling against Tom. Soo.. If you're not an Abraxas/Hermione-shipper, I'm sorry. Tom/Hermione interaction will come up shortly! Like next chapter shortly.  
>Mhm, yeah, okay.. I think I'm gonna shut up now.<strong>  
><strong>Unicorns.<br>Okay. ****_Now_**** I'm done talking.**


	11. 800

**A/N: Mucho disturbing themes ahead. Readers, ye be warned!**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter 11: 800°<span>**

Where do we belong?  
>I never really felt that I belonged anywhere.<br>It took a long time before I discovered the solace of a good friend's company; being left outside for so long as the precocious, annoying child that I was. And even now, with Ginny and the rest, do I truly feel a sense of belonging? Our similiar intrests are limited and I am always the odd one out. The oddity is always me: the sharp, overbearing Hermione.

As many adopted children, I suffer from light-to-heavy cases of abandonment issues. My family is my family.. yet it is not. I live under the care of two very loving creatures, who have not created me, but raised me under their roof nonetheless. My birth mother was a drug addict and my father.. No one has ever spoken to me of my father. I guess he was not worth mentioning.  
>So my mother is not my real mother and my father is not my real father.<br>And Tom is not my real brother.  
>Yet they are.<p>

Home is where the heart is as the saying goes.. But how can you tell where you belong if you do not even know where your heart is at?  
>Is it in the warm embrace of Abraxas? As we stand outside the cinema, with our arms tightly wrapped around one another, I feel safe. But is it right? Do I belong there?<p>

He smells lightly of cologne and sweat. Surprisingly, it is a nice combination. Abraxas is so very nice, even his sweat smells nice. I laugh inwardly.

"Soooo.." He is the one to break the pleasent silence. "I guess I'll see you in school then."

"Mhm.." I grab onto him tighter. I do not love this person, but I do love the comfort that his strong arms give me.

"We'll talk right? I mean.. you won't ignore me or anything from now on?"

"Mhm," is all that I have the strength to say. I do not feel like talking. _Why must he talk?_

"You.. you don't regret it, do you?"

I think about that for a second.  
>I feel I that I owe it to him to answer honestly, seeing as I literally grabbed his cock a mere forty minutes ago without any explanation whatsoever. The thought of it does make me feel slightly ashamed. Prude Hermione Riddle does not wank off a guy at the movies. During a first none-date as well. But another part of me truly enjoyed it. I enjoyed seeing his eyes become the thinnest of lines as his seed painted my hand white. I enjoyed his cum on me. That he could not take is eyes off me during the entire thing. I loved the control I felt.<p>

And I truly do love hugging him.

Stroking his back a last time, I pull myself from the blonde man, my palms finding his biceps.

"I won't ignore you Abraxas and I don't regret it. Just don't think so much about it, will you? Just let it be one of those moments that reason can't explain."

He scrutinize me with a thoughtful stare, not really knowing what to make of the situation.  
>I smile and bend over to gently put my lips on his cheek.<br>As I turn around and leave him, I realise that I still remain unkissed.  
>Abraxas' lips never graced mine.<p>

* * *

><p>Returning home, the darkness of the hall swallows me.<p>

"Hello?" I call, but there is no answer. For some reason, coming home to an empty house reminds me of myself as a child, when I bid my various toys goodbye before closing the door and then greeting them again when returning. I always imagined them having quite the feast when I left. Tom though, chided me for it, calling my conduct childish. Delving further into it, he never even had a toy he cared for. But then again, he had me.

When I enter the kitchen I notice a post-it on the refridgerator:

_Father and I are dining out tonight. Tom is with Bella.  
>Kisses,<em>

_mom_

I sigh. My parents are often going to restaurants and such. I suppose that it is their idea of romance. Coming home to a dark house is not usually an appealing situation on a Friday night, as it always left me feeling just a little bit too alone in the world. I like lonliness, more so than others, but not on a Friday night. I want the house to be lit or my parents to be softly sleeping in their bed, snores reaching all the way through the door I am standing behind.  
>On this Friday night though, lonliness suits me just fine.<br>There is a funny feeling growing inside of me, vibrating under my skin. I feel giddy and ridiculous while being extremely annoyed at the same time.  
>Exhausted might be a good sum up for it all. I am officially exhausted.<br>Wanting to get rid of some of that weirdness which I am experiencing, I decide to take a shower. Showers have a calming effect on me. _A problem? Take a shower!_

Stripping off my clothes and pointedly ignoring my reflection as I pass the mirror hanging on the bathroom wall, I enter the shower. I close the showerdrape out of mere habit. The door is locked as well, in case a certain individual found it in himself to be early. Usually he stays out all night though, but I dare not take any risks, especially not after reading Tom's diary and the disgusting fantasies it held. Stupid Tom. Ridding me off my mundane delights. Showering does not hold the same sort of comfort anymore. Neither does my new mango/raspberry-shampoo. Ugh.

Soon enough though, I am able to drift into the calm that is the stream of the water against my vibrating skin. I am not even able to notice a person entering the room.

Opening my eyes I briefly turn my gaze towards the showercurtain, seeing the hunched over shadow behind it.  
>Instead of panicking, I feel myself go completely calm, to the point where I can not feel, see or hear anything. Like my head has been pulled under water.<br>"Tom?" I then whisper, pulling the showerdrape a bit to the side so I can see him.  
>But he is not of a frightening stance.<br>He is seated on the closed toilet seat, with a hunched back and a stare pinned to the wall, as if he does not even know that I am there, _as if he does not even know that he is there.  
><em>"Tom?" I say again and my voice sounds pathetic.  
>This time, he slowly turns his head in my direction, until his gaze finally lands upon me, on my dripping hair and my bewildered eyes as I stand half-hidden behind the showercurtain.<p>

"I knew this day will come," he says, quietly, like speaking to himself.

My head is beginning to rise to the surface, I am being pulled out of the water and my breaths are coming in quickly through the nose now. My mouth still a slim line.

"You.. Go," is all I am able to conjure.

But Tom just looks at me, sitting perfectly still.  
>His apathy angers me. How can he not see how wrong this is?<p>

"I SAID GO!"  
>But my scream does not frighten him, he does not even lift his right eyebrow. He simply looks at me and if I did not know him better, I would swear that he looks sad.<p>

Then, as if in a trance, he lifts himself off the seat and come towards me, the process fast, but seen as slow.  
>In one move, he tears the showercurtain out of my hands and away from my body. Anger marring his face as in the beginning and the end of a crescendo.<p>

"Stop!" I shriek in shock, backing away from him.

With an enviable grace, he lifts one leg, then the other, and he is in the bathtub. The stream of the shower dampening his clothes, making me able to see the alabaster hardness of his skin through his white shirt.  
>In a futile attempt to preserve privacy, I hug one arm around my breasts, shielding what is between my legs with the other one.<br>For a while, he does nothing at all, only regarding my frightened form with a listless stare. If I did not know any better, I would say that he is being indifferent to me.  
>Reason tells me otherwise.<p>

"Have you completely lost your mind?!" my courage then shouts.

He opens and closes his mouth in tiny movements, like assembling saliva. His eyes does not meet mine, his gaze stuck somewhere between my breasts and cunt.  
>Stepping slightly forward, he takes my right hand, which is shakily clutching my left breast. Like in ultrarapid, I see myself letting him take my fingers in a gentle clasp. Then he is spreading out my shaking palm, as if he was to read in it. His thumb then carefully traces my life line.<p>

So this is the hand then."

He looks up at the same time that I do and I stare at him in frightened shock.  
>My tongue feels unnecessary big.<p>

"W..w..what?"

"The hand that committed the sin," he calmly states.

I swallow.

"I don't understand." And I try to pull my hand back, but to no avail.

His grasp on my hand then becomes painful, before he presses a dry kiss in the middle of my palm, upon which he hisses:  
>"You thought that I wouldn't know, didn't you?" His pupils are dilated and filled with hate, when meeting my stare.<p>

My eyebrows lifts to my hairline as he harshly pulls on my hand, moving it towards his wet, black trousers.  
>Not a thought in my head passes.<br>He forces me to cup him and I feel steel against fabric. With his other hand he opens his fly and a single word occurs to me: _No._

I am feeling the material of his underwear, my hand turning blue and red from the ill-treatment. In the distance I hear myself whimper.  
>And then I am holding him.. I am holding Tom's cock. The hard and warm flesh of it.<br>He moves his hand with mine, the same hand that earlier that evening touched Abraxas in the very same place.  
>My eyes do not see anything for all the water, yet I refuse to look at him.<p>

As my survival insticts kicks in and I begin to struggle he takes the hand that is not gripping my own and lifts it to my throat, cutting off my airway. When I stop struggling and feel that I am going to faint, he looses his hold a bit.  
>He then proceeds to fasten the pace and soon enough I feel his cock twitching and his cum is coating our entwined hands. As my mind begins its journey back to the present, I am able to catch a glimt of the black scarabs that are his pupils, glistening and twinkling before me.<br>Tom lets go of my hand.  
>Blood flows back onto it and water washes the stickiness off.<br>He sinks down onto his knees in the tub, standing with his face right in front of my lower curls, but all I am able to think of is the stickiness on my fingers that is no more. Still, I feel it there.

He then lounges forward and takes a hold of my arse cheeks with both hands, burying his nose at the top of my slit, directly on my clit.  
>But I do not feel it.<br>I do not feel it as he inhales, the sound almost like a sob.  
>Is Tom crying?<br>His fingers are digging into my flesh, leaving bruises where Abraxas left none.  
>I do not feel it.<br>My right arm, which hand has done never before done things that day, is held out in a stiff position, like it does not know where to go.  
>With the other one I grasp his hair.<p>

Then I hear it.  
>Tom is crying.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Good morning/day/evening you awesome creatures! I am very happy that most of you seem to tag along with the last chapter! *breathes out* Hopefully you liked this chapter's dark!Tom because he is here to stay.  
>The title of this chapter is a reference to a song by the same title, created by the Swedish punkband Ebba Grön. I chose it partly because I've had it stuck in my head this passing week, but mostly because of its content. The lyrics speaks of the cold war and how children "metaphorically" are freezing to death, followed by the statement how it will soon be warm; as warm as 800°, which is a reference to nuclear war.<br>It might sound really weird as I describe it to you, but take comfort in the fact that in my head, it makes perfect sense.  
>What I'm saying is basically that Tom and Hermione's cold war is over. Hotness and disturbing themes will continue from here.<br>**


	12. No Exit

**Chapter 12: No Exit.**

Tom is crying.  
>It is a pitiful sound, but it gives me strange comfort; a hope in that Tom's humanity does in fact exist.<p>

"I didn't mean to," he sobs, trying his best to sound dignified, succeding just the tiniest bit, but not thoroughly. The bar is just too damn high.

I am melting. The shock of it all is running off me in times with the waterdrops displayed over my body. My naked body that Tom is clutching. He is trailing the bruises on my thigh which Abraxas left with one hand, holding me against him with the other. Muttering something against my abdomen as he does so. Pointless words.  
>The sound of it calls upon my own sanity and reason.<br>I shove him away with all my might. Quickly climbing out of the shower and grabbing a towel before he has time to catch me again.

"What is wrong with you?" I shriek, feeling the anger taking over.

But Tom is stuck in whatever world he is visiting.

"I didn't mean to. It is your fault. You're the one that created this.." he begins to mutter to then trail off, mumbling something to then lift his head up again, meeting my eye.

And I swear I can see the light returning to them then.  
>I can see cunning ol' Tom coming back down to earth. And he is not happy.<br>My fingers are shaking, but this time it is not out of fear. I am angry. So angry I can not even begin to comprehend the entirety of my anger. Frustrated tears are pressed from under my eyelids and my lips are sown together into a nothingness, my jaw clenched tightly.

"How did you get in?" I state, trying to subdue my anger.

He moves his head – uncomprehending.

"What?"

"I said: How. Did. You. Get. In?"

He searches the ceiling for an answer.  
>"It doesn't matter."<p>

"It does to me."

"Fine," he sighs. "Key." He climbs out of the shower, his clothes drenched. I do not know when, but he has managed to put back the thing between his legs; all zipped up and proper he is.

"You have a key?" I say, the irrationen coming off of me in waves. "You might want to be more specific than that, Tommy-boy."

He picks up a towel, bringing it to his hair. His eyes are red but I chose not to notice, as does he.

"I have a key to every room of this house. Yours included. It is for security measures." He checks his face in the mirror. Looking very much like his old arrogant self, just drenched.

It is then I run out of the room, not knowing where to put my anger and sadness. Wanting to scream, run, cry and hit someone, Tom, at the same time.

My numbness is gone. Long gone voices are making their presence known in my head.

_Filthy_, one says. _That was filthy._  
><em>It is not you Hermione<em>, another one echo. _It is Tom. He is filthy filthy filthy._  
><em>A weak one answers: but he is your brother.<em>  
>I slam the door shut.<br>_It is true._  
><em>He is my brother.<em>  
><em>And I do love him.<em>

It does not take long before he enters my room. He has changed out of his clothes and has put his unreadable mask back into place.  
>I feel calmer, willing myself not to think about it.<br>Thinking about it.  
>I am seated by my desk, not even pretending to do anything of importance. Just sitting. <em>Why should I too put on a mask?<em> I think, my eyes on a pen with my name on it. Mother gave me that pen two birthdays ago, if my memory serves me right.

He goes to the window to look out, hands in his pockets.

"What?" I say after a while, not really wanting to acknowledge him as he is arrogantly waiting for me to do so first. _I've pleased that git enough._ But the sooner this is over, the better. To hell with pride for now.

He does not turn.

"That was unfortunate," he then says, as calm as ever.

I press my thumbnail into the area between my other thumb and forefinger. I press it until it hurts.

"If that would be all?" The question rhetorical.

"It isn't."

"Well then?"

A lonely sigh echoes throughout the room. Tom's, not mine. And then he turns around.

"You met with Abraxas this evening."

I blink stupidly, regarding the red mark that my nail left on my hand.

"And you know this how?" But as I look up and see his face, I change my mind. "You know what? I don't even want to know. I just want you out of this room. And soon enough, I want you out of my life."

This catches Tom's attention.

"You can't do that. I'm your brother," he states calmly, but even he can not fully conceal the panic shining through.

"Apparently not. That was not a very brotherly thing you did there Tom," I say, using a tool of Tom's and acting witty and cold.  
>Just so I can stay calm.<br>I must stay calm.

He pulls one hand out of his pocket to make nonchalant hand movements with.

"Look Hermione. How did you plan on pushing me out of your life? That would make for a lot of explaining to mother and father, don't you think? How would you explain not being there for christmas? Not calling me on my birthday? How would you.."

"I can always say that you abused me," I interrupt. I have turned my chair to face him and my eyes are fully focused upon his person. A piercing stare.

His lip pulls up briefly, just for a second, before he loses it. "I DIDN'T ABUSE YOU!" he screams and surges forward, turning an angry scarlet.

Instinctively, I retreat. He gets into a kneeling position and I flinch as he puts his palms on my cheeks, framing my face.

"I didn't abuse you," he repeats, but I don't know who he is trying to convince. I am most certainly not listening to him anymore.

Firmly, I pull his hands off me. Surprisingly he lets me do so, but he stays in his position, capturing me between the chair and his body. His gaze falls to the floor.

"It is was it is."

I snort, actually snort.

"It is also what it isn't."

That seems to confuse him enough. He looks up again.

"What do you mean?"

"No," I say with all the harshness I can muster. "You don't get to ask questions. I'm the one who asks questions here."

His head falls backwards before he gets up. I follow his movements closely.

"Fine," he says, pacing and clearly irritated, as if he had the right to be so. "Fine. Fire away then little sister! What do you want to know? You want to know how I know of Abraxas? I didn't follow you there as you think, I let other people do it. Other people? you wonder. Well, yes. I do have a small assembly of people that are more eager to listen to me then you are. And oh, yes you already know about the key, perhaps now you wonder if I do in fact visit your room when you are unaware of it? It has happened, let's leave it at that, shall we dear? The diary? Hmm.. I suppose it is a tool I use to keep my sanity. I've been slipping you see. What else is there? Oh yes, tonight. Well, tonight was your fault, Hermione. Of course it is regretful what happened, but there is no going back now. There's no exit, you see."

I just don't say anything.

He lifts his right eyebrow in response to my silence. Then, as an afterthought:

"Oh and also. You're sleeping with me tonight."

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN: How are you doing wonderful creatures of mother earth? Sorry for the late update. I've been to the middle of freaking nowhere to celebrate christmas (and all the materialistic nonsense that it is). I didn't have Internet there, otherwise I would have updated instead of freezing my butt off in the snow.**  
><strong>But less about me. More about Tom and Hermione. Yes, they may be OOC. People have different ideas of how Hermione and Tom are as people and my own ideas may vary from yours. And of course, circumstances makes people and this takes place in an alternate universe, so that might contribute to the OOC-ness as well. As my writing does, seeing as I am not miss Rowling.<strong>

**Well, what more can I say? I hope the future chapters won't disappoint you. We're twelve chapters in and have kind of scraped the surface of my Hermione, so her true self of this particular story has not quite landed yet. **

**One last thing: dark!Tom. Some of you are concerned about Tom becoming dark to the point of no return.. well.. Tom is dark. But he does have a softness to him reserved for those he cares for (which is basically Hermione). Thus, if Tom was to hurt Hermione (as he has done) he would feel regret, but he would not easily apologize for it or even admit to doing anything wrong, seeing as he is a proud cow.**

**Lastly, thank you all for your patience and a special thanks to those reviewing without accounts and to whom I can not therefore reply. You as well as the others, are worth all the good-karma stuff that the universe has to offer.**


	13. Ich Will

**A/N: ****Disturbing elements, comme d'habitude.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter 13: Ich Will<span>**

I just sit there, paralyzed, blinking.  
>Did he just..?<p>

"Did you hear me, Hermione?" he mocks in that cruel little voice of his. Hands entwined behind his back. Standing straight.

He just did.  
>Like a reflex, my body presses back into the chair, like it is trying to get away from him.<br>He laughs then.

"Don't fret dearest. I meant it in its most literal sense."

That confuses me and my head twitches to the side. Then, in one breath, I am able to collect enough energy to get up. And as I rise, my courage does so as well.

"You mean..?" I begin, "..to sleep with me?"

He just regards me, amused and looking completely out of his mind at the same time.

"To sleep with you. Only sleep. My room or your room doesn't really matter."

I let out an hysterical laugh.

"It does to me!" I scream, waving my arms about. Tears of anger, sadness and frustration rolling down my cheeks.

"Hermione.."

"DON'T! Don't throw my name around in that familiar manner of yours. I want you OUT. I WANT YOU OUT NOW."

As I advance on him he has the decency to look surprised, or maybe he really is surprised. I am able to get my fingers around his throat and so I squeeze. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. "GET OUT!"  
>For a shocked second he allows the assault upon his person. Then he is awake. He pulls me away from him as I fight him harder, kicking, biting, clawing and trying to do as much damage as possible. Like a wild animal let out of its cage.<p>

"Stop it!" he shouts, trying to get a hold of my arms that are tearing at his face. "STOP IT I SAID!" and in one violent maneuver he has taken hold of both my arms and drawn me down onto the ground. His torso hovering over mine, his legs entwined with mine.

"You hurt me," I say, not looking at him, looking past him. At the nothingness that is up there. "You hurt me," I repeat, like in a daze, a weak voice on the horizon.

Tom is struggling to catch his breath. Breathing unevenly into my hair. He smells of toothpaste, of mint.

"I know," he whispers. Bringing one hand up to stroke the brown curls that is displayed like an uneven hand fan over the carpet.

"You hurt me."

"I know," he brings his nose to my hair, placing it next to his hand.

We stay like that for a while, with Tom caressing my hair, my tear stricken cheeks, my neck and chin.  
>Ultimately, I calm down, feeling oddly numb.<p>

"Did you mean to kill me?" He then asks and his voice sounds so small.

I let out a humourless laugh.

"Maybe."

Then I am biting my lip and it is not so funny anymore.

And silence prevails.

"I.." He exhales, frustrated I believe, as if trying to find the right words. "I don't want Abraxas near you," he then conjures.

The words are disturbing and amusing all at once. Like_ he_ was the problem to begin with.  
>Abraxas.<br>Ha. I've forgotten him.

I do not make an answer to Tom's statement. That sort of stupidity is not worthy of a response.  
>But then again. Tom never expected one.<p>

"I'll have him killed if you do. You know, if you do go near him."  
>And his voice is not hostile, it barely holds any emotion at all, except a hint of confusion perhaps. The eloquent words do not fall so easily from his pretty mouth now.<p>

Gracefully, I wriggle my arms out from under him, putting them on his shoulders to then glide up, weighing the texture of his dark hair.

"Is that so," I sigh, turning his head to make him meet my eye.

And so I take a firm hold of the thick strands of his hair, lifting him up. It must hurt for he gasps. His eyes widen.  
>Again, he lets me do it, but only for a second. For a second I am able to shock him yet again, then he rips my hands away from his head.<br>Again, there is a dark light, brightening the grey irises of his eyes, and I can tell that the action only succeded in fueling his anger.  
>He is breathing unevenly again.<p>

"You shouldn't have done that," he hisses, lifting himself off me.

I pull myself up from the ground, straightening my pajama shirt while I do so. I do not even remember putting on a pajama. To my horror, I realise that it is Tom's old one. When..

"I don't blame you though. You're upset. You always do these things when you're upset," he mutters loud enough for me to hear.

I narrow my eyes at him.

He then takes a step forward, like he means to touch me again, but halfway through the movement he changes his mind.

"Remember my words," he says.

Then he leaves the room and I hear the door to his room slam shut.  
>Quickly I lock my own door, recalling him having the key, I also barricade it with my chair, hoping it will hold.<br>The set-up is pointless though and remains untouched throughout the night.

It was only when I heard the front door open and my parents childish laughter echoing in the hallway, that I was able to fall asleep.

* * *

><p>Next day is Saturday, which thankfully means no school and thus, no Tom.<br>At 7 am, while the house is still sleeping, I take a walk to the nearby park, placing down my rucksack and myself on a bench where I have an overview of the coming and going people. There are not that many. Two joggers and a few tired dog owners. The chill of the air bites at my fingers as I try to focus on the letters in my book.  
>At 10 am, I call Ginny, feeling that that is the earliest reasonable hour when you can call a person during the weekends, especielly if it is Ginny. Still, I manage to wake her. I fake small talk for a while before I ask the real question; <em>can I sleep at your place tonight?<br>_She happily agrees, then descriptively begins to tell me of just how Harry took a hold of her hand during their walk home.

* * *

><p>And so the weekend passes by, with me at Ginny's house.<br>I like her house, it is always filled to the brim with life. Her parents and six brothers are enough to go around, soundwise. And her older brother Ron is really funny. I suspect that he might like me, for the tips of his ears turns red whenever I catch him looking at me. He is sort of cute, but I never really thought that much about it, seeing as Ginny is my best friend and I do not want to complicate my life even further.  
>Besides, I have Abraxas now – at least I think I do.<br>Tom's words let their presence in my head be known.  
>But, at the Weasley's lively house, it is almost too easy to wave off the problems.<br>So that is what I do.  
>I wave them off.<p>

For now at least.

* * *

><p>Monday always returns.<p>

When Ginny, Harry, Parvati and I are about to enter the cafeteria, Abraxas catches up with me. In trail he has Bella, clutching her Tom in a vice-like grip by the arm.

"So this is where you've been hiding then," he exclaims, leaning over to press a quick kiss onto my lips. His face is smiling, like the sun at its zenith.

It is enough to make me melt.  
>I look pointedly at Tom and take a hold of Abraxas' hand, ignoring the shocked look of my friends. Ginny looks slightly betrayed though so I mouth an<br>_I'll explain later_, upon which she seems to calm down at least a little bit. She rolls her eyes and pulls her mouth to the side, letting me know that it is not totally unexpected, but that she will hold it against me for some time. Then Harry says something that catches her attention and I am forgotten yet again.

"No, I've had classes," I say in response to Abraxas statement. I can not bring myself to use any term of endearment with him, so the lovable "silly" remains unspoken at the tip of my tongue.

He squeezes my hand. Smiles.

I quickly look over my shoulder then, not so much to make a point this time as to regard the person in charge of that stare that prickles my neck.  
>Bella is laughing at something.<br>Tom's eyes flickers to her and then turns back to me.  
>He gives me a small nod.<br>It is not one of approval.

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN: Ich Will by Rammstein. Lyrics were fitting (I want ..you to hear/see/understand/trust me). Also I've been listening to it all day as Rammstein is a great cure for anger. Nothing serious though. Just everyday-frustration that comes with being a human. Hope you people are doing more awesome!  
>And yay on Bella entering the story! She will become much more present in it I'm afraid. "I'm afraid" because, If truth be told, I never really liked Bellatrix much. I think it has to do with the fact that she killed Sirius, which was last reminder of what Harry had that even resembled a family. I remember reading that when I was eleven and being like "you dick".<strong>


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